


The Blood-rat

by CuddlerOfDragons



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2019-05-25
Packaged: 2019-06-11 01:18:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 20
Words: 39,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15304236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CuddlerOfDragons/pseuds/CuddlerOfDragons
Summary: A vampire finds a way to exist peacefully with humans.  Starts after Lucifer and Maze come to Earth, before Chloe shows up, then rewrites the end of season 3.Warnings for violence, drug use, kinky (consensual) sex and blood drinking.





	1. Year One

 

 

It’s been a year, to the day but you’ve been hurting for the last two months - staying away from humans, terrified of what you might do - but not tonight.  Tonight, even though the hunger is at fever pitch, tonight you have to risk it.

Why Lux?  You need to maybe convince Him that somewhere with _no_ humans would be better.  Then again, maybe all these humans - queuing _outside_ the club, hot and sweaty _inside_ it - are the point; the pheromones, the pulsing hot, red, _delicious_ , necessary… maybe they’re a test.

You try to act normal - it won’t do to look all strung out - the doormen might decide to deny you entry before you get close enough to change their minds.

A quick glance in his eyes is all it takes for the first one to let you queue jump.  The second, you have to hold with your eyes for longer - two or three heartbeats - and it’s too much and he holds his bare wrist out to you and you can _hear_ his pulse as it practically begs…

You’re inside now, carefully keeping your eyes lowered but still scanning the crowd for Him and all the while knowing that any one of these people could be yours for the taking, yours _yours_ for the price of looking in their eyes and _wanting_.  But _He_ would end you for it.

“ _You’re_ coming with me.”  His demon snarls, appearing out of the chaos, grabbing you by the wrist and pulling you towards the elevator.

She’s stronger than you; full demon, she’d be stronger even if you _weren’t_ so weak, _now_ it feels like your arm’s coming out of its socket.  She uses a key in the elevator and, as it drops to the basement, she’s on her phone:

“Blood-rat’s here, Boss.”  The insult comes easily to her - maybe she thinks that's what your kind is actually _called_.   “Be ready for you in the playroom in ten.”

And she’s dragging you down tunnels that seem to be hewn from rock, _dragging_ you, even though you’d come willingly and you’re hopelessly lost, now; stumbling behind her and figuring that you’ll round a corner soon and find yourself in _actual_ Hell.

Then there’s a door and a room with chains and torture equipment and a bed.  She strips you and makes you kneel on the bed with your hands in front and then manacles them to a chain attached to the metal bed head.  Then she leaves.

You test the strength of the chain, even though you have no desire to escape; you have, after all, been counting the days or rather the _nights_.  You know that, for you, even at your _full_ strength, the chain can’t be broken.

“Trying to escape?”  His voice sounds amused, behind you.

“No.  Just testing, Master.”

“No need for _that_ , Darling.  I like to hear my _name_ being screamed.”

You can hear him taking off His clothes.

“Lucifer, then.”  You try to sound civilized, _polite_ even.   “I don’t usually scream names when my mouth is full.”  You’re shivering now, although it’s not cold and He can hear the tremor in your voice.

“You’ve left it too long,”  He says, climbing onto the bed behind you, His warmth against your back, His arms around you and His hands running over the contours of your body.

“It’s exactly a year, that was the deal.”  You practically moan the words, as His fingers move between your legs.

“Maybe make it ten months, next time.  You’re too tense, sex is out of the question.”  The fingers withdraw.

“No.  _Please_.”

“Your body _clearly_ doesn’t want it.  I don’t do rape.”  He says, with finality.

“All my body wants is _blood_.  That’s all it _ever_ wants.  The sex, _please_ , **_I_** need the sex.  It’s not rape, I consent, I’ll beg you for it, _please_.”

“Alright.”  You hear Him opening something, lube?

Then one of His arms is holding you still, just below your throat and His other hand is between your legs again and it _still_ isn’t working.

“Relax for me, Darling, just a little?”

“N-no.  Can’t.”  You stammer, even more tense, now and He sighs.  His hand, encircling your throat, squeezes - _hard_ and the world floats away for a while.

When it drifts back, He’s in and the core of His heat inside you feels _so_ good that if you still had tears you would weep.

“Lucifer.”  You breathe.

You’re on His lap, still facing forward and He’s thrusting and the tip of Him is grazing something magical inside you that other lovers seem never to have found.

You push down, against Him and, impossibly He goes deeper in.  You gasp and squirm and writhe and, somehow, He knows precisely _when_.

Then it’s happening and He’s putting His wrist to your mouth and your fangs are there, pressing His hot skin and He groans as they penetrate and…

It’s like flying.  Liquid heat and dazzling light fill your mouth as you swallow the orgasmic raw _power_ of Him.  Molten heat inside, too as He pulses His completion, deep in the centre of you.

No sound now but your swallowing.

“Stop, now.”  He says, gently.  You comply instantly.

“Maze says that you should stay restrained until tomorrow night.”

“Yes.”  You agree.

“We need to rethink The Deal.”

You wait, in silence, to hear what He will agree to.

“You return to me in ten months and we do this again.  In those ten months, you harm no humans.  Sex with them _is_ permitted and _small_ amounts of blood can be taken.  No deaths, no turnings.  The power in _my_ blood should sustain you for those ten months, easily.  A year is obviously too long.”

“Agreed.  Thank you.”

His arms tighten around you.  He’s still inside and He’s gloriously hard again.

“Now, let’s see if you can scream my name, _this_ time.”


	2. What Came Before

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was to be a one shot but then came the questions: how did they first meet? How did the nameless vampire come to be? So, a prequel.

 

 

 

 

What Came Before

 

You feel so foolish, as your breathing slows.  The books all made it sound so romantic, sexy even and you and your friends all bought into it.  Maybe you can sue Anne Rice, _if_ you live through this.

Maybe you can sue her even if you _don’t_.  _Especially_ if you don’t.

It all seems so _childish_ , now, in the face of the _reality_.  The hair dye - black and purple, in your case - the dark, crushed velvet clothes.  The poetry.  The all night coffee shops and Jezz with her tendency to self harm.  Just childish games, despite your age.  Old enough to know better?

All of your friends picked off, one by one but Jezz was the only one who _mattered_.

If you end up as a vampire or a zombie, you resolve, the first person you eat will be Jezz’s bastard, raping, father.  If not for _him_ , wanting to keep ‘his little girl’ close, she’d be safely away, in college.  If you properly _die_ you will search heaven and hell until you find her.

Because _she_ is _definitely_ dead and _you_ are, maybe, transforming?

 _Actual_ vampires.  _Not_ like the books; maybe more like some of the films; the ones that didn‘t concern themselves with beauty.  You feel dirty and violated; your wrists torn open, _your_ life sustaining _them_ , being forced to swallow… being made powerless.  These are filthy, stinking psychotics, getting off on doing whatever they want.

Jezz.

You’ll never forget the awful sounds of her death.  The screams that almost drowned out the sound of the…

Don’t think about it.  _Especially_ don’t think about seeing _her_ blood on _them_ , like they’d _bathed_ …

Jezz died because of her scars.  Not pretty enough to turn, they said.  For you, it’s simple logic; the blame a chain of events.  She died because of the scars.  She self harmed because of her father.  Her father is to blame for her death.

You will kill her father because, although you never told her, you loved Jezz.  The thought of vengeance, on _him_ at least, keeps you warm in the cold darkness of your death.

***

More screams.

You open your eyes and survey the scene from the filthy mattress they left you on.  They’re being _killed_.

A beautiful woman with wild hair is _whirling_ in the middle of the room.  You can’t call it _fighting_ , it’s too one-sided for that.  Ballet of death, you decide.

_(‘Into the ballet of death,_

_Rode the six hundred.’)_

You misquote the poem inside your head and almost smile.  There’s nowhere near to six hundred of them but if there were, you feel sure that this woman could take them _all_ and probably their horses, too.

Then the world shifts on its axis because _He_ walks in.  He is beauty.  He is power.  He is perfection.

His suit is _way_ too nice for _this_ room. 

You feel ashamed to be here; for _Him_ to find you in this place, in this _company_ and then the mattress dips behind you and you realize that you’ve lost sight of the woman and you feel her hand in your hair and she jerks your head back, baring your throat to her blade and your eyes meet His and you are happy for _His_ face to be the last thing you see…

“ _Wait_.”  He says.

“Lucifer?”  She asks, her blade poised.

“This one’s different.”

And of course He’s _Lucifer_.  Of _course_  He’s The Devil.  Who else?

And you’re kneeling at His feet, now, where the woman dragged you by the hair and you’re looking up into His eyes and He says:

“You haven’t killed.”

“I _will_.”  You say, a truth that will probably get _you_ killed.

“Someone in particular?”  He asks.

“Jezz’s raping father.”

“Jezz?”  He asks, looking around the room at the carnage.

“Not in here.”  You say.

“Dead human girl, out back.  Chainsaw.”  The woman says.

Lucifer’s eyes flash red and you can’t look away.

“I’ll let you have that one, then.”  He says, seeming to understand, without you having to explain.  “After _him_ , what do you truly desire?” 

And the truth spills out of you.

“You.  I want _you_.  I want you to _fuck_ me.   I want you to _feed_ me… I… just _want_ you.”

He nods His understanding.

“Of course you do, Darling.”  He smiles.  “You’ll need to be a lot cleaner for _my_ bed, though.  Next time, I think.”

“Next time?”

“I’d like to make a deal with you.”  He takes a knife from somewhere in His suit.  A curved knife, the twin of the one the woman has.

“Yes.”  You say, wondering if you’ve just agreed to have your throat cut and then the privilege of bleeding out on His shoes.

“Yes?  Without knowing what?”  He seems surprised.

“Anything you ask.”

“Very well.  I _am_ going to feed you…”

“ _No!”_ The woman sounds furious.  “You _can’t_.”

“I can.  This pocket of vampirism was started by one of _Hell’s_ demons.  What has happened is _my_ responsibility.  You’ve had _your_ fun…”  He gestures around the room.  “..But _this_ one was innocent.”  He turns His attention back to you.

“I’ll feed you.  The power in my blood will give you a certain amount of control over your hunger.  It should last around a year.  I’ll allow _one_ death, in that time, use it wisely.  No others and no new vampires.  My demon bodyguard here, will be watching.”

“Deal.”  You say.

He spins the point of the knife over His wrist and presses the cut to your mouth.

You’ve tasted blood _before_ , obviously, hasn’t everyone?  Your own, of course - sucking on paper cuts in the hopes the flesh would stick together again, who hasn’t?  You thought you knew what it tastes like.

You don’t.

Will it _all_ be this good, now?  Maybe it’s just _His_ because of who He is.  Maybe human blood won’t fill you with strength and sweetness and make you feel… feel…

Something’s burning and you’re being carried.  You feel heat and hear the crackling roar of a fire and then it’s dark and cool and someone presses something into your pocket.  You hear sirens in the distance…

***

You emerge the next night, just after sunset, from what turns out to be the basement of an abandoned building.  Up the street a ways, the ruins of another building - the one you _died_ in - smoulder still.  Your new Master has left His card in your pocket and a roll of cash.  You look at the card: 

Lucifer Morningstar

LUX

You turn it over and find a date, in what must be the most beautiful handwriting you’ve ever seen.  A date for a year from now…

 


	3. His Private Assassin?

 

 

They say that the older you get, the faster time passes and, you suppose, when you get _really_ old - like centuries - time will _flash_ by, even though _you_ won’t look or _feel_ any older.

In the years since you died, met Lucifer and were offered an _epic_ deal, things have gone surprisingly well for you.  After the first twelve months - two of which were pure Hell (ha) - you and He settled into a ten month routine. 

His demon still chains you for Lucifer’s protection and she still insults you and makes jokes to Him about His unexpected fondness for necrophilia; _always_ making sure that you hear.  Do you feel insulted?  Yes.  Is the sex and the blood worth it?  A thousand times, yes.

Your phone rings - unknown number, not an unusual occurrence - you hit the button to answer.

“Tell me, Darling,”  Lucifer’s voice purrs into your ear, making no attempt to identify himself to you.  Why would He have to?  “Are you capable of draining a large man in one sitting?”

“Would that be a trick question?  You know I’m not allowed to do that.”  You say, your mind racing.  He’s actually calling you.  He has your number.  Wow.

“I just wondered if you tried it with Jezz’s father.  I know you follow our deal.”  Lucifer sounded hurt.

“Sorry.  No, I made him last - you said to use him wisely - I got a month out of him.  Learned control and how little I could get by on.”  You say, your voice contrite.

“Would you like to try it?”

“You got someone you want _eaten_?”  You ask, a nervous laugh in your voice.  “For you, anything.  Is he a _bad_ person?”

“Would it make a difference?”

“Yeah, I’d prefer it.”  You say, dropping your voice a little as you hear a car slow down behind you.

“Hop in, Darling.”

You turn and the car behind you is Lucifer’s.  He slips His phone into His pocket as you get in.

***

In all the time you’ve been ‘seeing’ Him, you’ve never been in His home and you want to be all ‘cool and unimpressed’ but, of course, you can’t because it’s _damned_ impressive.

“I’m locking this off,”  Lucifer says, pointing to a keypad next to the elevator.  “Just because we don’t need to be disturbed.”

“No problem.  You have a light proof room up here?  Only I don’t know how long this will take.”

“The bathroom.”

“Okay then, where’s the so called father of vampirism?”

“That’s a myth.”  The man you assume to be Cain says, walking in off the balcony.  You look him over.

He’s easily as tall as Lucifer but heavier built and nowhere near as pleasing to the eye.  He’s not as graceful, either and his clothes are all ‘farm boy chic’ if that’s even a thing.

“Yeah, I know.  I wouldn’t be doing this if I thought it _wasn’t_.”  You say.  “Where do you want me?”  This whole thing is creeping you out, you want it over.

“You really think that this… _emo_ can help me?”  Cain asks Lucifer, with the lack of respect that you’ve come to associate with the kind of people who make assumptions based on appearances.  He’s underestimating you.  Good.

You look up and meet his eyes.  Hold them with your own.

The effects are almost instant.  Cain’s breathing slows and he sinks to his knees in front of you.  Still trapped in your eyes, he unbuttons his plaid shirt, removes it and tilts his head to one side, giving you the best possible access to the artery.

“How?”  Lucifer asks, visibly shocked.

“They feel my thirst and want to quench it.”  You tell Him, with a shrug.

“How do you resist the need to kill?”  He sounds genuinely puzzled.

“ _We_ have a deal.”  You say.  Then you strike.

The blood’s under pressure and hits the back of your throat, hard.  You don’t need to breathe, so you can‘t choke, you don’t _really_ need to swallow - not for _this_ volume - your insides just soak it up; your body grateful that, for once, you won’t have to stop.

By the time his heart begins to falter, you’re having to suck.  From what Lucifer told you, on your way up to the penthouse, you need to take as much as you can.  Ensure Cain’s death.

Suck and swallow, it’s becoming an effort, now, making your mouth sore.  You’re on your knees, fastened to him and following his sagging weight to the floor.  The flavour of the blood is somehow wrong, too, you notice.  You weren’t tasting it to begin with.  It’s not like Lucifer’s - liquid light - it’s not like human’s either.

Cain drops from your grasp, as drained as he’s ever going to get.  His skin is like parchment, his lips are blue.  Dead.

You get up.

“Are you all right?”  Lucifer asks, as you stagger.

Nausea rolls through you.

“Bathroom?”  You croak.  He gestures and you run.

Once, you and Jezz spent a weekend in a cheap motel, drinking even cheaper cider, bottle after bottle until your young bodies couldn’t take it and you’d both gotten so sick that you hadn’t even had to _heave_ \- just bend at the waist, hang your heads down and open your mouths.  You vividly remember watching the almost pristine cider swirling down the bathtub drain, having poured out of you with no effort at all.  Even as drunk as you’d been, the toilet had been too gross to get your faces _that_ close to, besides, you could use the tub _together_.  Later, the manager had reported you to child services.  Happy memories.

Lucifer’s toilet is beautifully clean.  Or it was until Cain’s blood filled it.  You rest your forehead on your arm and just let the blood out.  It tastes of death - spoiled things rotting in the dark - you hope that you don’t rot, too.

***

“ _There_ you are, Darling, back with me.”  Are you imagining concern in Lucifer’s voice?

It’s still dark and you’re in His bed, cold, even though He’s wrapped you in blankets - does He think you have a body temperature of your own?

“Cain?”  You struggle to get the word out of your parched throat.

“Went home.”

“Sorry I couldn’t…”

“ _I’m_ sorry.  You could have died.”

“Did that already.”  You say, your ribs hurt but you laugh anyway.

“You’ve been here all day, in the bathroom until nightfall, then out here.  I managed to get _some_ of my blood into you, it should be easier now that you’re awake.”

“If you ever need anyone _else_ killed…”  You offer, knowing He probably won’t take you up on it.

 

 

 


	4. The Test

 

 

You’re nervous.  Sitting here alone with all the people around you.

(“ _You haven’t met The Detective yet, have you, Darling?_ ”)

Why does Lucifer think that this is a _good_ idea? 

(“ _I need you to try your ‘eye capture’ thing on her.  I just need to **know**.  I trust you not to take advantage._ ”)

(“ _She’s a **detective**?  You **do** know that I’m trying to live off grid?  Stay under the radar?  Keep my head down?  Any of this ringing any bells?_ ”)You had protested, even though His trust makes you feel unexpectedly warm inside.

(“ _All you have to do is sit at the bar with a drink and **look** at her when she comes over to order **hers**.  I doubt she’ll even notice you._ ”)

(“ _Not if it **works** on her, she won’t but if not… I have a juvie record, Lucifer, Jezz and I both…_ ”)

(“ _Those records are sealed, **aren’t** they?  **She** won’t have access without seeing a judge.  I’ll owe you a favour… **two** favours, with what I owe you for Cain._ ”)

So, here you are (was there ever any doubt?) sitting at the bar in Lux, with a very expensive (“ _You do know I can’t **drink** this, right?_ ”) free drink in front of you. 

You watch, as Detective Decker walks towards the bar; towards _you_.  She’s not what you were expecting, for Lucifer’s obsession - He can have _anyone_ , after all - but maybe that’s the point.  She gives her drink order to the barman, then she turns to you.

You look her in the eyes and deliberately let your thirst leak out.

“How _old_ are you?”  She demands.

You shove more of your thirst at her and the barman, standing too close, catches the edge of it and freezes.

“Old _enough_ ,”  You say, with a flirtatious smile.  You’re panicking inside, though.  _Lucifer_ , where _are_ you?

“Don’t give me that.  Let me see some I.D.”

Your driving licence hits the bar, between you.  She picks it up.  Studies it.

“I’m meant to believe that _this_ is genuine.”  She states, looking at the dates on it and looking at you.

“I have X.P.”  You say, _really_ nervous now, you’ve never had to _use_ this excuse but you’ve had it ready, just in case.  You even carry a medical alert card.  You show it.

“X.P.?”

“Xeroderma Pigmentosum.  I can’t go out in the daylight.”  You tell her.  “Most skin aging is caused by the sun, so…”

“You look _deliciously_ young, whilst not being illegal.”  Lucifer purrs from behind Detective Decker.

“Yeah.”  You say, gratefully, looking up at Him.  He raises an eyebrow and shifts His head slightly, indicating the barman.  You flick your gaze sideways and realize that the man has rolled up his sleeve and is about to offer you his wrist. 

You swallow your thirst.

The barman blinks and looks around with a dazed expression.  He sees Lucifer.

“What’ll it be, Boss?”  Like nothing just happened.

You’re so flustered, you almost down the whiskey that you were only _pretending_ to drink.  You imagine coughing it back up, _here_ , in front of all these people _and_ the extremely suspicious Detective Decker.  You carefully set the un-tasted drink down.

“ _You’re_ meant to be off duty, Detective.”  Lucifer says, distracting her.

“ _You_ could lose your licence…and…”  Her eyes roll as she realizes.   “Oh, you two _know_ each other.”

You hear her say, as you pocket your (genuine) driving licence and (fake) medical alert card.

“We _do_ and I would _never_ allow underage drinking at Lux.  Or underage anything else, for that matter.”  Lucifer says, as you slip away.

That’s you; legal for _sex_ , when you died but _not_ legal for alcohol.  Good thing you’re incapable of drinking it, these days.

***

Later that night, the sex was tender - gentle even - face to face and with you unchained, for a change.  His demon wasn’t there to enforce the ‘safe sex’ rules - _you_ securely restrained at all times, Lucifer taking you from behind, well away from your teeth, never putting anything near your mouth that He wasn’t happy for you to bite - you enjoyed the freedom and, for once, didn’t feel the need to bite down as you climaxed.

“I love you.”  You say, quietly, in the aftermath.  “But I get that _you_ love The Detective.”

“I do,”  He replies, a world of sadness in His voice.  “But you _understand_ me.  I’m very fond of you.”

“What does it mean, that my thirst doesn’t effect her?”

“I don’t know.”  His voice is hoarse, close to tears.

There’s a whooshing sound and He wraps His wings around you then kisses you.  He slips His tongue between your lips and you groan as He deliberately slices the tip of it on your razor sharp fangs.

Blood fills your mouth.

He kisses you harder and, like someone flipped a switch, the sex goes from gentle to rough.

You’re swallowing His blood and He’s slamming into you with the complete lack of restraint that only comes when you know that you can do your partner no permanent damage.

His wings are supporting you, leaving His hands free to roam over your body, touching, exploring and teasing.  You can only hang on for the ride.

It’s frantic and violent and you wonder if it’s because He’s angry that His Detective doesn’t love _Him_ the way He loves her or if it’s that He can’t feel about _you,_ the way you feel about _Him_.  It would be easier for you both if He could.

You’re sobbing into His shoulder and He’s biting yours as orgasm drives you both to new heights.  Then the sun crests the horizon, causing another switch to flip and you die in His arms.

***

“I thought for a second that I’d killed you.”  He says, when you open your eyes at sunset.  “Somehow I forget that you’re not _always_ alive.”

“None of Mazikeen’s necrophilia jokes sunk in, then.”  You say, with an embarrassed smile.

“They _should_ have.”  He says, seriously.  “After all, my bathroom looked like a crime scene, last week, complete with corpse.”

“I’m sorry that I… while we were…”

“Oh yes, _very_ bad form.  Not _entirely_ your fault, though.  Neither of us were watching the clock.”

“I usual _feel_ when it’s about to happen but I was distracted.”

“Tell me, Darling, where do you go?”

“When I die?  Nowhere.”

“Not Heaven, not Hell?”

“I can’t even say that it’s like _sleeping_ because there’s no sense of time passing, no dreaming.  From _my_ perspective, I was in your arms, your wings around me and then I was opening my eyes, in this bed, with you dressed and sitting next to me.”

“How do you ever feel _safe_?  In the day, I mean.”

“I have good locks.”

“Not nearly good enough, for _my_ liking.  I’m afraid that you won’t be able to go back to your basement hovel for a few days.  I’m having a panic room put in.”

“I really don’t think that my landlord will…”

“Trust me, your safety is a high priority for him.”  He smirks at you.

“You bought the building?”  You guess.

“I look after my friends and I consider _you_ to be one of my closest.”

***

 


	5. A Place of Safety

 

 

You tap in your key-code, open the door to leave your panic room and hear voices - sounds like you left the TV on ( _you didn’t_ ) or maybe it’s intruders ( _how exciting_ ) - you wake up thirsty, so you _really_ hope it’s intruders.

It is.  Intruder, singular.

Lucifer is sprawled on your couch and He looks _wrecked_.  The skin around His eyes is red, His hair is all over the place and _curly_ ; add that to the dishevelled suit…

“Lucifer?”

“Shhh, we’re about to find out who _did_ it.”  He says, seemingly riveted by an episode of ‘Bones’, a glance to your DVD shelf tells you that it’s not _your_ box set that He’s watching.

“Been here long?”  You ask, when the episode has ended.

“Since noon.  I can’t sleep, rather, I can’t _let_ myself sleep.  My Dad’s messing with me.  Making me fly around, doing good deeds, in my _sleep_.”  He sounds manic.

“Did you want to sleep _here_?  I can watch you, wake you up if you sleepwalk… or… er.. _fly_.”

“Can you lock us both in your panic room?  With only _you_ knowing the key-code, I think I’ll finally feel safe enough to relax.”

“Of _course_ , if it’s what you need.  I’ll lock us both in _and_ watch you sleep.”

“Lovely.  Breakfast is on me.”  He says, getting off the couch, staggering slightly and then lurching towards the panic room, taking off His left cufflink and rolling His sleeve up as He goes.

Once the door is locked, He sits down on your bed, pulling you onto His lap and offering His wrist.  He strokes your hair as you bite - as gently as you can, it hurts more without an orgasm to take the edge off - and He tightens His hold, as your fangs penetrate.  

You don’t take much.  Usually the complexity of His blood has a mellow under-taste - from all the whiskey, you imagine - _this_ time His dazzling essence is spiky with amphetamines and you know, from experience of _human_ drug users, that you’re going to be jittery all night.  You lick His skin clean as the puncture wounds close.

“Do you want to talk about what happened?”  You ask, as He lays back and pulls you the rest of the way, His arms around your waist, as though reluctant to let go.

“Later.”  He murmurs, already half asleep.

You carefully pull a book out from under the pillow and make yourself comfortable against His chest, His blood already thrumming through your veins.

It’s going to be a long night.

***

You open your eyes the next sunset to find that He _still_ hasn’t moved.  You turn over, carefully; look up at His face.  His eyes are open.

“You died on me again.”  He says, with a smirk.

“I would have gone onto the floor, just before dawn but you were still asleep and I didn’t want to disturb you.”  You look down at His arms, still locked around you.  “How long have you been awake?”

“Not long.  Can I offer you breakfast again?”

“I’ll pass, thank you.  I can still taste the amphetamines from last time.”

“Sorry about that.  The effect wears off but they hang around in my system.”

“What _happened_?  You said you were doing good deeds in your sleep.”

“My Father.”  He growls, then explains; a confused tale of angel figurines, soot and broken handcuffs.

 _You_ think that the most incomprehensible part of the story is The Detective dating _Cain_ and the rumours that they’ve been making out in the closets at work.

“I know I only met her for a few minutes..“  You say, carefully, “But she struck me as too much of a professional to risk her career, that way.  Demanding my I.D. when she was clearly off duty?  Dedicated.  Cain, on the other hand?  He’s toxic, he tastes of death and he‘s _obviously_ a bad influence on her.  Do you think he’s with her because you didn’t manage to kill him?”  You don’t like the way that Lucifer flinches when you ask.

“I _hope_ that he has genuine feelings for her.  She doesn’t deserve to be used.”  His eyes well up for an instant and you hate yourself, then He blinks and changes the subject.   “ _I_ need breakfast, even if _you_ don’t, let us out of here, would you.”  He sounds okay again but you know He isn’t.

“There’s a coffee place on the corner, do you want me to go?  They do food as well.”  You ask, unlocking the door.

“No need, I brought supplies, yesterday.”

“Food as well as DVDs?”  You laugh.

“Your kitchen is woefully lacking, I got you a coffee machine.  I put it by the sink, well away from the books.  Why _is_ your kitchen full of books?“

“I ran out of shelf space, out here.  It’s not like I cook… or eat.”

“Well, your overnight guests will thank me.  I was streaming ‘Bones’ at the penthouse but I didn’t know if you’d have it…”

“I don‘t have overnight guests… until now, it‘s too risky.”

“ _I’d_ like to stay for a few days, if it’s alright?”  He sounds almost _shy_.

“You are _always_ welcome.”  You say, wondering at this lack of confidence.  Has His bastard father broken Him or was it Cain and The Detective?

***

Weeks later

Being stealthy comes naturally to your kind and you flow silently between the trees and bushes in search of your closest emergency hiding place.  You know that there’s an entrance into the drainage system, near here, you can smell it.

 _Finally_ ; it’s concealed, protected by grating and painfully narrow and you _find_ it.  Swiftly, you break the padlock holding the grating closed and squirm in, feet first, jamming foliage into the metal grid, to hide the damage and to block out any sunlight that might try to follow you in.

It’s mostly dry, you realize but smells bad.  Oh well, you were going to dispose of the clothes anyway, just in case.  Wouldn’t want to take the chance of forensics getting hold of them.  You wriggle further in, until you’re certain that you’ll be in shadow all day.  You work your phone out of your pocket, if you’re lucky you’ll have time to call Lucifer and tell Him what you’ve done.  He’ll know what to d

***

You open your eyes.  The phone is still in your hand but the battery’s run down.  No chance of calling Lucifer _or_ an Uber home.  You’ll have to walk it.

You have time to think, on the way back to your basement; time to wonder what Lucifer’s been doing since He quit sleeping at your place and went back to His life.  You’re certain that He won’t be angry with you for what you’ve done, after all, where’s the harm?  By your reckoning you’ve _saved_ two lives…

***

Your apartment door is unlocked.

“Lucifer?”  You call out as you go in.

“No but He wants to see you.”  It’s His demon, Mazikeen, looking as happy to be in your lowly company as she always does.

“Great, I need to see _Him_.  I just need a shower first.”  You say, walking ahead of her.

Rookie mistake.  As soon as your back is turned, she strikes.

***

The trunk of Mazikeen’s car opens and she fists her hand in your hair and drags you, painfully, out.  You recognize the underground parking at Lux.  She _is_ taking you to Lucifer?

Your mind is racing - will He be angry when He sees how she’s treated you or have you screwed up so badly that it’s over for you?  Is it what you did last night?  Does He think that you’ve broken the deal?  You hope that you’ll be given the chance to explain.

If not… you hope that Lucifer will deal with your punishment, in person.

The elevator doors open onto the penthouse and the demon pushes you out, ahead of her.  Lucifer is on the balcony, looking out at the sky. 

“Lucifer.”  Maze snaps to get His attention.

He turns and walks slowly towards you both.  It’s obvious, to you, that He wasn’t expecting this.  He takes in the sight of her, holding you firmly by your hair, your hands chained behind your back, thick tape covering your mouth.

Her knife point pressing into the skin just below your ear.

“Hostage taker or executioner?”  He asks, contempt in His voice.  “Which game are you playing _now_?”

“That’s up to you.”  She says.  “I still want to go home.”

“I’ve told you why I can’t take you.”

“ _Decker_ and your selfish ‘ _I can‘t lose **you** , too‘ _speech.”  She sneers.  “Newsflash, I’m _lost_.  So, what if _all_ your pets were _lost_ , too, starting with _this_ one?  What if you had nothing left of your _life here_?”

“You think _threatening_ me, threatening **_them_** will help?”  His eyes are flickering a faint red, now.

“Time’s up for this _vermin_ , either way.  Treacherous little killer.”

“Fine one _you_ are to talk about the treachery of _others_.  I _permitted_ that death.”

“Cain’s as well?”

“What?”  He wasn’t expecting that and neither were you.

“This _creature_ has been following him at night.  Its scent is all over the crime scene.  Cain died on his knees.  Shot upwards from his throat to cover the bite marks.”

Your eyes widen at this and Lucifer, studying your face, raises an eyebrow.  You realize that, somehow, He _knows_ it’s a lie.

You feel calm, then.  At peace.  Your fate is out of your hands.

“Put the knife down and we’ll talk.”  He says.

“It’s just a _blood-rat_ , why do you _care_?”

“Don’t do this.”

“You don’t _get it_.  You let this _thing_ fool you.  _You_ were its first _drink_ , you made it stronger, more rational but it’s still not a _person;_ it’s a vile mix of a dead human’s soul and a spark of demon energy.  It can’t _feel_ , look at it, it’s not even _struggling_.  It doesn’t _care_ , it has no _loyalty._ It broke your _deal,_ what more proof do you _need_?”  She tightens her grip in your hair, increases the pressure of the knife against your taut skin.

You look at Him and you’re flashing back to when you _first_ met - Mazikeen’s fist in your hair, her knife at your throat - you realize that you’ve been on borrowed time ever since, that it was _always_ meant to end this way.  His face _will_ be the last thing that you see.  You smile behind the gag and hope that He can see it in your eyes.  You’ve come full circle.

“Tread carefully, Mazikeen, on your burning bridge.”  Lucifer says, quietly, _dangerously_ ; the infrasonic vibrations in His voice making your bones reverberate.

The knife flashes, so sharp and expertly wielded, that you feel nothing but your world turns red, nonetheless.  Stolen blood, some of it but most of it freely given to you by Him.  She releases your hair and your head flops forward, suddenly too heavy for you to hold up.  You feel cool air caressing nerve endings that were never meant for such exposure and Lucifer’s roar of rage echoes in your ears as the world slides from red to black.

***

The light from His wings is bright, even with your eyes closed and you try to breathe - you don’t _need_ to, unless you have to talk but you were alive and human much longer than you were _this_ \- you cough and it hurts.  At least the tape over your mouth is gone.

“Don’t try to breathe, Darling, give your lungs some time.  You don’t have to talk to me until you‘re ready.”

You realize that you’re coughing blood onto His shirt.  He’s on His knees, holding you upright with His arms _and_ His wings and doesn’t seem to care how messed up His suit is.  You finally get enough breath.

“How?”  You manage to get out.  Your voice is raspy from the knife damage.

“One of my feathers and a small quantity of my blood.  She hadn’t severed your spine.”

“Where… she..?”

“In Hell’s most secure cell… the one my Mother used to inhabit; it was either that or kill her.  I’ll check up on her in a few weeks, see if she’s _repented_.”  He says the last word with some bitterness.

“Weeks?”  Talking is getting slightly easier but your throat still feels like it’s on fire.

“Trust me, that’s _years_ in Hell.”  He runs one of His hands down your arms to your chained wrists and the chains hit the floor, freeing you.  “Tell me about Cain.”

“I _was_ follow..ing… him.  After you left… I… I didn’t trust… his motives, with… your detective, so... started tracking him… at night… then _last_ night, he was… going to _shoot_ a couple.  He a racist?”

“Huh?”  He sounds confused.

“They… were _mixed_ … big, bald, black guy and a blonde woman… he have a problem… with that or… maybe it was a hit?”  You cough some more and your lungs are clear at last.

“You’re saying you thought he was going to _shoot_ Amenadiel and Charlotte?”

“You _know_ them?  He _was_ going to shoot _,_ he was taking aim at the man and I…”  Your throat feels almost normal again.

“Pushed your thirst on him?  Like before?”

“Yeah and while he was on his knees I made him turn the gun on himself.  I figured it would take him at _least_ a few minutes to come back and the sound of the shot would warn the couple, give them time to get away.  I didn’t _feed_ , I swear.  Why _would_ I?  His blood is _ugh_.  It was too close to dawn for me to stick around to see what happened and I wasn’t going to make it home; I spent the day in a storm drain, only just got in in time.  Then, when I _did_ get back, the _next_ night - tonight - your demon jumped me.”

“Cain _died_.  Permanently.  He’d lost his mark.  He’s in Hell, where he belongs.”

“I _did_ break our deal?”  You look at Him with wide eyes, surely He wouldn’t bring you back, just to punish you, would He?

“ _You_ weren’t to know; I should have kept you in the loop.  The man Cain was going to shoot, is my brother, he and Charlotte - _not_ a couple, by the way - had been investigating him.  I’ll have to talk to them both about it but it seems that you’ve saved their lives.  Officially, Cain’s death is suicide.  The Detective thinks that it’s because she broke off their engagement, so she’s feeling a lot of guilt.  _That_ might change, when it comes out that he was The Sinnerman.”

“Get forensics to check out his rock collection, some have dried blood on them.”

“Talking of blood, whenever _you’re_ here this place ends up looking like a crime scene.  Get those clothes off, they’ll need to be incinerated.”  He folds His wings away and looks down at His ruined suit.  “Mine as well.”  He says, unbuttoning His shirt.

You peel the blood soaked garments off, they’d already been destined for a dumpster, after all.  Lucifer growls and you turn around.

“What?”  You ask.

“Did _she_ do that?”  He indicates the bruises that cover you.

“I think she was angry that you’d been using my place, to sleep.  She said something about it while she was hitting me.”

“You didn’t fight back?”

“She said _you_ wanted to see me; I thought she chained me so you’d be safe - you know how she is - I didn’t realize until she gagged me, by then it was too late.”  You shrug.

“ _I’d_ have phoned you.”

“My phone needed charging, that’s why I didn’t call you about Cain.  Then it got broken when she threw me in the trunk of her car.”

“Maybe I’ll just _leave_ her in Hell.”

“It could have been worse.  She could have waited until I died for the day and then set fire to me or buried me or left me out in the sun…”

“She wanted _me_ to watch.”  He snarls, His anger climbing.  You can feel the temperature rise to mirror His rage.  “She wanted me to see someone I _care_ about, die; to _realize_ that she could make it happen to _all_ my friends.  She picked you because she thinks that _you’re_ the most expendable.”  He pulls you to Him, skin to skin.  You cling to His warmth.  “ _None_ of my friends are expendable.”  He growls into your hair.  “She wanted me to _picture_ them, like _you_ , chained and terrifi…”  His voice trails off, He pulls away slightly and looks down into your face.  “You _weren’t_ scared, though, were you?  Is it like she said, you don’t _feel_?”

“I’m never scared when I’m with you.”  You tell Him.

“Don’t start with the ‘.. _for Thou art with me_..’ stuff, I am _not_ to be worshipped.”

“I can taste the divinity in your blood but I’m not going to start worshipping a being who guzzles amphetamines like they were Smarties and binge watches ‘Bones’, while hogging the couch.”  You say, with a laugh.  “I don’t worship you, Lucifer, I just love you.”

“Even _that_ is uncalled for.”

“Can’t help the way I feel.”  You say with a shrug.  “Shower?”

“You go ahead, I’ve just got to clean _this_ up.  You can’t be here for it, it would damage your eyes.  I‘ll join you in a moment.”

He takes your bloodstained clothes and tosses them, together with His own, into the pool of blood that’s congealing on His expensive floor.  As you walk through the doorway, towards the bathroom, there’s a flash of white light behind you.

You don’t look back.

 

 


	6. Rough Day At Work

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings for consensual rough sex and violence.

 

Your evening has started well.  One of your regular donors has enjoyed the unique pleasure of your fangs in his throat _and_ has paid you for the privilege.  Breakfast _and_ cash, good combo.  Now, after a relaxing shower, you’re toweling yourself dry and mentally planning the rest of your night.  So many possibilities…

A door closes somewhere in your apartment.  Lucifer?  You wonder.  You haven’t seen Him since He saved your life and banished Mazikeen to Hell.  You slip your robe over your still damp body and go to investigate.

He’s standing in the main living area, pushing the temperature up, with His rage.

“Lucifer?”  You say, uncertainty in your voice.

“You’ve done nothing wrong and you don’t deserve this.”  He growls, His eyes taking in your near-nakedness and then flickering red.  “I just _need_ …”  He grits His teeth, clenches His fists and more heat pours from him.  “I’ll close my eyes,”  His voice is calmer now.  “If you don’t want this, lock yourself in _there_.”  He indicates your panic room.  “I would never _insist_.”

He closes His eyes and your mouth goes dry.  A thrill of excitement dances up your spine at this very human response.  When He opens His eyes, you’ve dropped the robe.

He exhales and starts towards you, slowly, giving you time to run, maybe _daring_ you to.  Will there be rules to this?

He takes one of your wrists in each of His hands, pushes them behind you, then holds both easily in His left hand, His long fingers an unbreakable grip.  His right hand wraps around the back of your neck, fingers pressing pulse points.  He smiles as your pulse rate spikes.  He sees the question in your eyes.

“ _You_ don’t get to bite.  Unless I tell you to.  Otherwise, anything goes.”  He says.  You nod, looking into His eyes, hoping for a hint of what’s coming next.

His eyes flash red and the hand around your neck tightens.

You don’t need to breathe but your blood _does_ need to circulate, your vision goes dark around the edges as your brain is slowly starved.  He’s snarling something at you; you can see His mouth moving through the haze but there’s no sound, just a jangling in your ears which softens to a distant rushing noise.

You come back to consciousness with a start.  You’re face down in the carpet and your body seems to be having an orgasm without you.  Lucifer’s hands are clutching your hips - hard enough to bruise - and He’s pounding into you, the hard tip of Him battering your sweet spot.  You howl your appreciation into the floor.  He doesn’t let up.  Your wrists are _tied_ behind you now, so you can’t change position or fight Him in any way but why would you _want_ to?

You feel His heat pulse inside you as He roars His completion, then He pulls out and hauls you up by the arms.  Something pops in your shoulder and the sudden agony whites you out for a few seconds.

When your vision clears, you’re on your knees and the silken hardness of Him is level with your mouth so you gently tongue the tip, tasting His arousal and making Him groan.  You relax your throat as He pushes between your lips and doesn’t stop until your mouth is kissing the base of Him.

“Now.”  He growls.  You flick your eyes up to His face, questioningly.  “ _Bite_.”

_Seriously?_

Your fangs descend and you _try_ to be gentle but _He_ ’s having no part of _that_.  He thrusts against your sharpness and His blood flows into your mouth making you bite harder and swallow around the thickness of Him.  He screams and pumps liquid heat down your throat and, even though it’s mostly _not_ blood, your body doesn’t reject it.

His knees buckle, His hands on the back of your head relax their grip and you fall, together, in a tangle of limbs.  Something snaps in your arm as you land, His weight on you and you black out, _again_.

He’s gently stroking your hair when you open your eyes.

“There you are, Darling.”  He says, picking something up from the floor.

It’s one of Mazikeen’s curved knives and you overreact, trying to scoot away across the room, still on your back, your broken arm and dislocated shoulder making you whimper.

“No.”  He says, His voice full of pain and you freeze.  “Please don’t.”  Tears well in His eyes.  “I’m sorry.  It’s over.”

‘ _What’s over?_ ’  You wonder, sitting up as best you can.  The sex?  The friendship?  Your _life_?

He walks over and stands behind you.

“This will probably hurt.”  He says, gripping your shoulder and working it back into place.

He’s not kidding and you almost check out again, then He realigns the broken bone in your arm and you _do_.

 _This_ time you wake up to the taste of His blood - _that_ was what the knife was for - and you can feel the peculiar itch that says that your bone is knitting back together.

“You didn’t fight.”  He says, quietly.

“Was I supposed to?”

“Maze always did.”

“I’m not Maze.  Rough day at work, was it?”  You ask.

“She blames me for everything.”

“Mazikeen?”

“The Detective.  I let her have her choice, free will; she _chose_ to be with Cain - accepted his marriage proposal, then broke it off again - _now_ she thinks that I should have told her that he was The Sinnerman.”

“Would she have _believed_ you?”  You ask, remembering ‘pillow talk’ from back when you only saw Him once a year.

“No.  She was never even prepared to _listen_ to anything on _that_ subject, even _after_ she found out that he was real.  As far as _she_ was concerned, ‘Lt. Pierce’ did me a _huge_ favour by shooting ‘The Sinnerman’ in _my_ defence and covering up what _I_ had done.”

“I understand why you were angry, being blamed for stuff that‘s not your fault.”  You say.  It’s obvious that His anger has dissipated.  “Would you like me to fight back, next time?”

“Next time?”  He whispers, a stricken look on His face.  “There won’t be a next time.”

“ _That_ would be a pity.”  You say.  “It was the most thrilling night I ever had.”

***


	7. Misunderstood

 

The sun will be up soon and you know that you’re not going to make it.  At least, in the tunnels under Lux, the sunlight won’t find you.  You wonder when _Lucifer_ will find you, _if_ He’ll find you and if He’ll realize how desperate you were to reach Him.

You’re weak from hunger and blood loss and… whatever it was that the man had dosed himself with.  You’re about to die for the day and you wonder, as you crawl ever closer to your goal, if you’re about to die for _ever_.

Abruptly, your body feels too heavy for you to move and you know that the sun is above the horizon.  You should be gone - black, timeless oblivion - but instead you’re floating, looking down on your body, below.

 _This is it then,_ you think, _Heaven or Hell._   You know that Hell, _your_ Hell, will be a filthy mattress and the sounds of Jezz’s death…

…and you’re floating upwards, _surely not **Heaven** , _you pass through the ceiling and up into the club above, finally coming to a floating stop in Lucifer’s penthouse.

The place is a mess.

Empty bottles and drug paraphernalia litter the floors and Lucifer Himself is passed out on His bed, His hair mussed and His suit beyond saving.

 _What happened?_ The last time He looked _this_ bad, He was giving sleep deprivation a whirl.

You try to interact with Him, wake Him up, maybe but your hands go straight through Him and He doesn’t stir.  Not quite how you thought the afterlife would be.

***

Sometime later, Lucifer wakes up, groaning and bleary eyed, He heads for the bathroom, shedding clothes as He goes.  You float along behind Him as if you were a balloon on a string that He was pulling as He enters the en-suite bathroom and switches on the shower.  You seem to be incapable of moving independently of Him, are you going to follow Him around all day (eternity)?  You can’t decide if this is _better_ than switching off like a light bulb, at dawn or if it’s _worse_.

Showered and dressed, no one would ever know how wrecked He had obviously been.  When His phone rings He sounds quite His usual self.  He speaks to His detective and then opens the text that she has sent Him with the address of their latest crime scene.

He drops the phone.

***

Following, as Lucifer drives to your (His) building, is disconcerting to say the least.  It _looks_ like flying should, skimming along just above His convertible but, without the sense of movement, no wind in your hair, more like _virtual_ reality - immersive but, ultimately unreal.

Inside, your basement apartment, is, more or less, how you left it.

Lucifer is looking franticly around, probably for _your_ corpse but the only body is the gunman who surprised _you_ last night at sunset.

“Good of you to join us.”  Detective Decker is sounding frosty, obviously something going on _there_ , you think.  “Body was discovered by a courier company employee, delivering a package.  He says he’s delivered quite a few packages here, in the past but has never seen the occupant of the apartment.  He usually leaves them outside the door; today, the lock had been sawn through, the door was open and there was blood.”  She indicates the mess just inside the door and you recognise it from when you threw up.  “He took a look inside, went back up to the street and called it in.”

“Time of death, I would say sometime early last night.  _This_ victim was obviously on his knees when he died but it’s the _first_ victim _I’m_ interested in.”  A petite, dark-haired woman says, cheerfully.  Ms. Lopez, you surmise, from Lucifer‘s previous descriptions.

“First victim?”  Lucifer says, woodenly.  You don’t like the way that Decker is watching Him.

“ _Yes_.”  Lopez sounds excited.  “It looks like what happened is _this_ ,”  She goes over to your panic room door.  “So, the gunman was already here when victim number one came out of this room, over there somewhere, judging by the angles.”  She gestures to exactly where the man _had_ been standing.  You’re impressed.  She continues.  “The first shot is into the back…”  She demonstrates, leaning forward at the impact, just the way that _you_ had.  “Hits one of the lungs, victim coughs blood, right here on this door frame, you can tell by the tiny droplets, that it’s been expirated.  Then, the victim turns around and the gunman fires again and this time the victim hits _this_ wall,”  She indicates a large blood smear that runs down your wall towards the floor.  “Slides down and ends up here.”  She indicates more blood stains on the carpet.  “Then, it looks like the victim crawls over to the gunman who has _now_ , moved over to here and got down on his knees…”

“How do you know?”  Decker asks, sharply.

“No blood stains on the lower half of the gunman’s pants.  He went down on his knees _before_ the victim crawled over here and there’s more expirated blood on the shooter’s clothes but only _above_ knee level.”

“Cause of death for the gunman?”  Decker asks and you see Lucifer flinch.

“Poison.  See the odd grey blue colour of his skin, my guess is a massive dose of silver nitrate.  A strange way to kill someone, particularly someone who still has a gun in their hand.  He has two puncture wounds to the left wrist which _may_ be the injection site, we’ll know more after the autopsy.”

“Could the missing victim have got themselves to hospital?”  Decker asks.

“After taking two shots to the upper body and losing all this blood?  Unlikely; _my_ guess is they got as far as here,”  She indicates where you brought up the gunman‘s contaminated blood.  “Coughed up _more_ blood and then died.  We’ve _got_ to assume that there was someone _else_ here, a _third_ person, who surprised the gunman and then _removed_ the first body for some reason.  That‘s not the _weirdest_ thing though.”  She pauses for effect while Decker looks on and Lucifer looks like He’s going to be sick.  “The _apartment_.  Below ground, no windows, the only bedroom is a  panic room that would survive, even if the whole _building_ came down.  There’s no food, _anywhere_.  The only kitchen appliance is a fancy coffee machine and _that‘s_ been packed away in its box and stashed under the sink.”

“Not everyone cooks, Ms. Lopez,”  Lucifer says, quietly.  “One can always buy takeout.”  He sounds, to you, as though He’s hanging by a thread but the others don’t seem to notice.

“We’ll be talking to the owner of the building - see if they can give any information on our missing victim - uniform are canvassing the upstairs neighbours, see if anyone heard anything..”  Decker says, still watching Lucifer.  She _knows_ , you think.

“They won’t have.  The soundproofing is top notch.”  Lucifer says.

“ _You_ own the building?”  Lopez says, instantly making the leap and finally realizing that Lucifer is in pain.  “Was the missing victim a friend of yours?”

“Good of you to admit it, I was wondering how long it would take.  Now, the question is, _who_ did you have living here?  Not a Brittany, there‘s too many books and not enough mirrors.”  Decker says, looking at Him, gauging His reaction.  He says nothing but the heat kicks up a notch.

She holds up Jezz’s hideous pink, stuffed, toy cat - your only souvenir from your life _before_ , taken from Jezz’s home, while you were taking Jezz’s father - it’s wearing a baby sized T shirt with the slogan ‘Jezz and Paz: Best Friends Forever’.  You’re relieved that ‘Paz’ bears no obvious relationship to your birth name, just something _she_ called you because she liked the way the two names sounded together.  Decker has, unfortunately, seen your I.D. but there’s nothing here that might jog her memory. 

You’ve been cuddling the toy at sunrise and ’waking’ with it in your arms since Lucifer started ghosting you, _Decker_ must have taken it from your bed. _Your_ anger climbs too.

“Well, Mr. Morningstar?”  He flinches when she says that and you hate her.  “Did you have a couple of teenage runaways living here?”

“You know me better than that, Detective Decker.”  He says, are you the only one that can hear the dangerous edge to His voice?

“Do I?  I used to _think_ I did.”

“We’ve found a phone.”  A man whose identity you can’t guess at, hands Decker your phone, of _course_ it‘s not locked.  She starts scrolling through your texts.

“Looks like someone was texting _you_.”  She says, to Lucifer.  “No names but… ‘( **Bat Emoji** ) to ( **Devil Emoji** ):  _I’m sorry, please forgive me.  I miss you‘_.”  She reads out, looking at Lucifer, accusingly.  “You didn’t bother replying to that.  Then we have  ‘( **Bat Emoji** ) to ( **Devil Emoji** ):  _I will die before I break our deal_ ‘.”  She looks at Lucifer again, He’s rigid, the only thing moving is the muscle in His jaw.  “ _That_ one got a response:  ‘( **Devil Emoji** ) to ( **Bat Emoji** ):  _Unnecessary_ ‘.”  She looks at Him again, “I presume that the string of numbers after that _one_ word is a date when you’ll be - sorry, _would have been -_ seeing this _friend_.  Months away, _well_ into next year.”

“Dude, that’s _harsh_.”  Lopez says.

“What kind of ’ _man_ ’ receives a suicidal text from, what seems to be, a vulnerable _young_ person, hinting that they’ll kill themselves for him and replies with the word ‘Unnecessary’ and arrangements to go on a date _next year_?“

“It’s not like that, Detective, it’s…”

“Complicated?  Oh, I _bet_ it is.  I want to know everything about your _tenant_ \- I’ll assume it’s just one - starting with a _full_ name, I want to know what kind of person has packages delivered that _don’t_ have a name on, just ‘occupier’, I want to know what this unbreakable _deal_ is and why it warrants a suicide threat and _most_ of all, I want to know what your friend _did_.  _What_ , exactly, could _you_ not forgive?”  Decker sounds angry.

“Myself.”  Lucifer says, His voice sounding so tortured, that you just want to hug Him.  “Detective, my friend is a very private person…”

There’s a ripping noise, as the unnamed man opens the package that was delivered today, revealing _your_ gift for Lucifer, bought online before it all went wrong between you.  A coffee cup and saucer with a devil emoji on it.

Lucifer makes a soft, _pained_ sound and His eyes fill with tears.

“I’m sorry, I’m _so_ sorry.”  He whispers.  Then He takes a deep breath and it’s like He’s quashing the emotions, swallowing them like when _you_ swallow your thirst.  He blinks back the tears and walks towards the door.

“Lucifer?”  Decker says.

“I can’t be part of this investigation, Detective.  I’ll have my lawyer draw up a statement for you.”

As you’re pulled up the stairs behind him, you hear Decker say:  “He wasn’t like _this_ over those flight attendants, that time…”

***

He’s driving back to Lux and you’re pretend flying again.  You wonder if you can get Him to look for you, in the tunnels.  You try whispering in His ear to slow down, when you get close to the building where the tunnel comes out.  The second year of your deal, He had given you the keys to both the building - which He also owns - _and_ the door in its basement that connects to the prohibition tunnels.  Just in case, He had said.  Practical, well prepared _you_ , you wear them around your neck at all times. 

Two blocks from Lux, He _does_ slow the car.

 _Yes, yes please stop here_.  You say, knowing that He can’t hear you but hoping that you somehow get through to Him. 

He parks.  He goes in.  He sees the first of the dead, drained rats and knows that you were here.

You can’t remember how far you got, reduced to crawling most of the way but you feel sure that it’ll all be okay when Lucifer finds you.

You’d forgotten what a mess your body is in.  Face down, bloody across the back from the first shot and, when Lucifer turns it over, more blood across the chest from the second.  Add to that the blood and bits of fur around your mouth and it’s just incredibly gross.

Your love for Lucifer swells inside your disembodied soul as you watch Him gently kiss your forehead and close your eyes, then He picks you up and carries you through the tunnel and finally to the playroom’s en-suite bathroom, lays you gently on the floor and starts to strip you.

You watch, fascinated, as He unfurls His wings and plucks one of the long feathers before putting the wings back to wherever it is that they go.  Then, using the feather as though it’s a knife, He digs the bullets out of you.  It takes a while, they seem to have broken up inside you and He has to poke around for all the pieces.  You’re glad that you’re not alive, right now, for this.

When it’s over, He strips off _His_ clothes and takes you to the shower.  Your body is a dead weight (ha) and ridiculously floppy and He gives you an _extremely_ thorough washing that you‘d _love_ to have been alive for, then He wraps you in a huge towel, before going back in and washing Himself. 

It takes a while for Him to dry you as thoroughly as He’s washed you but when He’s done He carries you back to the playroom bed, then wraps the covers around you, as tenderly as if tucking in a child.

“I’ll be back here at sunset,”  He whispers, before shedding His robe and getting dressed from a walk in wardrobe that you didn’t even know was down here.  You’d seen the door but had assumed it was a closet for more of Mazikeen’s scary sex toys (torture devices?).  Once He’s immaculate again, He’s walking back down the tunnel to retrieve His car.  You’re still with Him.

Back in the penthouse, you’re treated to the, hitherto unknown, sight of Him drinking a bottle of water, then chasing it with a carton of mango juice.  You _knew_ that there was a good reason to love Him.  He finishes the juice just in time for the elevator to ding.  He turns to see who’s arrived.

“Ms. Lopez, lovely to see you again so…”  Lucifer starts to say.

“Tell me about the _vampire_ , Lucifer.”  She says.  “And don’t try to let me think it’s more ‘ _method acting’_ because these results _don’t_ lie.”  She’s waving a bunch of paperwork.

“ _I_ never said I was a method actor, _you_ did.  I believe _I_ denied it, on several occasions, in fact.”  He indicates the papers in her hand.  “Tell me about the results.”

“Well, let’s start with the bullets.  Only two had been fired, from a full clip.  The unused ones were interesting - _all_ custom made, hardwood core with a thin metal casing designed to fragment on entry.  Basically, leaving chunks of _wood_ inside the victim.”  She pulls out another sheet of paper.

“Moving on from weird bullets, we come to weird poison.  The gunman was _never_ intended to live through this, he had a remote control drug delivery pump, implanted under his skin.”

“Delivering _what_?”  Lucifer asks.

“A very _strange_ cocktail, consisting of: silver nitrate, garlic oil and a massive dose of cocaine.  Now, I’m thinking that the coke was to deaden the pain of the silver nitrate, which is very corrosive and, when injected into a major blood vessel, would be agonizing.  The obvious conclusion is _this_ : the hit-man has orders to kill a vampire.  He’s supplied with wooden bullets and just in case _that_ doesn’t work, _someone_ assumes that the intended victim will try to drain the hit-man’s blood, so they order him to trigger the implant - _probably_ before he even got to your friend’s apartment - and flood his system with enough silver nitrate and garlic oil to kill the vampire and enough cocaine to kill himself.”  She pulls more paper. 

Lucifer goes to the bar and pours a large drink.  Lopez shakes her head at His unspoken offer.  He looks longingly at His full glass, then pushes it away and takes another bottle of water instead.

“Then, we have the blood results.  The stuff on the door frame is ‘inconclusive’, as is the sample on the wall and most of the blood on the carpet.  The largest pool, the one by the door, contains cocaine, silver nitrate and garlic oil.  So, your friend, _doesn’t_ die from the bullets - at least not right away - the gunman probably missed the heart, that much crap in his blood _would_ make him shaky but, now, the vampire _really_ needs a drink, so he or she - I _so_ don’t want to know which - crawls to the man with the gun, who doesn’t want to _shoot_ anymore.  Oh, no, _he_ just wants to kneel on the floor and feed a _vampire_.  Your friend doesn’t take much - a half pint at most - _then_ gets sick, probably pulls themselves together enough, after, to leave the apartment and walks off into the night.  Most likely feeding on other people en route.  How am I doing so far?”

“I don’t know.  I wasn’t there.”  He swigs His water, pulls a face then downs the rest.  “What does The Detective think of your theory?”

“I haven’t told her, _she_ needs hard facts and _proof_ and, luckily, no one else has made the same logic leap as I have and, as curious as I _am_ , I don‘t want to know any details about your U.A. friend.  No personal stuff, the less I know the less can come out, accidentally.”

“Agreed.  U.A.?“

“Undead American - your friend _is_ American, right? - it was on an episode of ‘Buffy‘, a joke about the politically correct way to refer to vampires.“

“Riight.  How is it, that you believe _I_ have a friend who’s a vampire and yet you _don’t_ believe that I’m The Devil?”

“Maybe… seeing this laid out on _paper_ \- ballistic reports, tox reports - makes it more _real_.  Oh, and the apartment - no food, not even food wrappers in the _trash_ \- plus, whoever did the prep work on the gunman _must_ have believed; it was precision surgery.”

“Pierce’s minions, presumably.”

“Yeah, dead dude has the tattoo.  Did Pierce _know_ your friend or was this hit just to hurt _you_?”

“Their paths crossed.  He knew enough to hazard a guess at what might work.”

“Do _I_ need to flag up bloodless corpses?  How much would your friend _need,_ to get over what happened?”

“No, no bloodless corpses, unless you count the hit that the rat population took, last night.  My friend doesn’t kill humans.  As for how much, I‘m afraid that I don‘t know.”

“That’s your unbreakable deal, yeah?  The _not_ killing of humans?”

“Yes.”  He reaches for another bottle of water.

“And the thing you couldn’t forgive?”

A shiver goes through Him.

“Not something I wish to talk about.  Rest assured, though, there were no deaths involved.”

“Is your friend okay?”

“I don’t know.”  He sounds so tortured and to your surprise and His, Ella hugs Him.

“I’m sorry I didn’t believe you.”  She says.

“It‘s not like I offer proof.  Why does this not _bother_ you?“

“You’re still _you_.  And I’ve never _wanted_ proof.  Can’t have _faith_ if you’ve got proof, can you?”

“True.  Thank you and if you _could_ manage to keep it to yourself, myself and my U.A. Friend would be grateful.”

“Devils and vampires?  Everyone would just think I was loco; _although_ , if they saw _you_ drinking _water_...  That makes it _all_ more real, you’re planning on feeding your friend, later, huh?”

“Hopefully.  I thought I’d try to clean my blood up a bit.  Are these results going to be awkward, for you?”  He indicates the paperwork.

“ _Nah_ , the lab people have already drawn a _different_ conclusion, I’ll let you know how it pans out.”

***

It’s around half an hour before sunset, when Lucifer takes the elevator and, unknown to Him, _you_ , down to the secret basement and the playroom.

You’re scared.  You don’t know how to get back into your body, what if you _can’t_?  What if you’re doomed to follow Lucifer around for ever?  How will you stand to see Him living His life and be unable to touch Him or _help_ Him if He‘s in trouble?

He’s checking the time on His phone and looking closely at your face for signs of life.

“Come back to me.”  He whispers.

You can feel the sun dropping and you still don’t know if you’ll wake and He’s reaching for His Hell forged knife and the sun has gone and you’re _still_ out of your body and Lucifer’s begging you now and you don’t know what to do and He slices His wrist open and puts it to your mouth and the blood is flowing and there’s a weird snapping sensation and you swallow…and taste…

Your eyes fly open and you gasp.  Lucifer presses His other hand behind your head and you’re drinking.  Life and light and power and _salvation_ …

“You’re alright, it’s alright, you’re back, I’ve got you, you’re safe…”  He sounds _so_ relieved.  You want to talk to Him but you’re just so _thirsty_.  You gulp His blood - scorching hot in your freezing cold body - and feel the empty bullet holes slowly closing.

His phone rings.

He pulls you to Him so you’re propped against His chest and continues to hold His wrist to your mouth while He takes the call.

“Detective Decker, what can I do for you?”  He asks, coldly.

She’s too quiet for you to hear but she must be saying something _He_ wants to hear because His voice warms up as He continues:

“…And how long before the apartment can be reclaimed?…………..Yes, well, jumping to conclusions _is_ usually more me than _you_ ……….Who knows _why_ Pierce’s men do anything?……….……….. No, I’m afraid that my friend _was_ injured - although not as badly as the scene suggested - and is in _no_ condition to give a statement…………. Yes, _I_ have to be going as well, I’m donating blood………. Yes, at this precise moment………. No, that won’t be possible………….. Yes, tomorrow morning.  I’ll be there.  Goodnight Detective.”

He ends the call, switches off His phone and slides it into His jacket pocket - the jacket is hanging over a chair, with the rest of His clothes - He takes His wrist from your mouth just long enough to shed His robe, climbs naked into the bed and snuggles close to you.  You shiver, even though He’s warm, spooning behind you, His free arm around your waist, with His hot blood inside you, you still feel cold.

“Drink up, Darling; it’s not like the well can run dry.”

He makes a sinfully sexual sound as you bite down on His wrist again and He tightens His hold on you.

“The detective was calling to tell me that the previous owner of your building confirms that you’re _not_ underage.  Oh and I’m sure that you’ll be relieved to hear that your murder was a hoax.”  He says and you can hear the smirk in His voice.  “It seems that the blood on your walls and carpet are from different sources, probably more than one pack stolen from a blood bank and mixed together.  The stuff from the doorway belonged to the gunman.”  He kisses the top of your head.  “I was so worried about you.”

“Mmm my mo.”  You say, with your mouth full.

“You know?”

“I was there.”  You say, licking His wrist clean, finished for the moment and then turning over to face Him.  “I didn’t die, this morning; well, my body did but _I_ went straight to you.  I’ve been with you since dawn.”

“You saw…”

“Yeah.  What _happened_ to you?  You were _wrecked_.”

“I felt so bad about what I did to you.”

“Ghosting me, you mean?  You could have just stopped, called me…”

“No, not _that_.  Turning up at your place, taking out my frustration on you, brutalizing you, terrifying you…”

“I _wasn’t_ terrified, why would you think that?”

“The way you reacted, after I broke your arm.  There was such fear in your eyes when you looked at me.”

“That wasn’t because of _you_ , it was the knife.  _Last_ time I saw that thing, Mazikeen damn near took my head off with it.  My reaction to having it that close to me was… an unfortunate _reflex_.  I‘ve _never_ been afraid of _you_.”

“I had to leave you on the penthouse floor, that night, while I dealt with Maze - took her down to Hell, got her locked away - came back up…  The blood had stopped flowing and I could see all the way to your spine…  I didn’t even know if the feather would _work_ , you not being completely alive…”  He has a faraway, _haunted_ look in his eyes.  “Doctor Linda got paid extra when I talked _that_ out with her.  Seeing you with your throat cut so badly actually gave me nightmares.  Next thing I know, _I‘m_ hurting you - scaring you too.  I thought I‘d broken you.”

“The broken arm was _my_ fault, I fell awkwardly because I was trying not to land on my shoulder.”

“Which _I_ dislocated.”

“Yeah but I’m sure you didn’t do it on _purpose_ and you sorted it out for me.” 

“I thought I broke you _emotionally_.  I was _so_ out of control, I’ve only _ever_ been that way with demons, before; they‘re stronger, they can _take_ it.  When you passed out, while I was fixing your arm, you just looked so _human_ and so impossibly _young_.”

“That’s _never_ going to change.  I was eighteen when I died, I’m _always_ going to look like this, whether it’s been six years or six _hundred_ years.  Delicious, _you_ called it.”  You try not to sound hurt.

“Oh, you _are_.  The trouble is, I _want_ to be rough with you, just so I can kiss it all better.”

“What‘s stopping you?  I _enjoyed_ what we did.  I _have_ to be in control, with humans, wouldn’t want to accidentally break our deal but with _you_ , I’m safe.  I can let go.”

“I thought you were afraid of me but staying away from you was killing me.  The drinking and the drugs were because I kept seeing the memories of you; unconscious, helpless and _then_ , down on your knees, damaged, in pain, taking me in your mouth… your _teeth_ … the look in your eyes… the way it felt when you… swallowed… your throat constricting around me…  I’ve been _craving_ it.”

“You can have that _any_ time.  You don’t even have to _ask_.”  He gives you a look.  “It’s more exciting for me when you just _take_.  When I don’t know what’s coming.  I’ve always enjoyed a certain amount of pain and loss of control with sex and what _you_ did made me feel _alive_.  Any time, Lucifer, you have my consent.”  You clarify.

“You’ll need a safe word, if that’s how it’s going to be, between us.  Might I suggest ‘RED’ for stop.”

“Why would I need that?  I _trust_ you.”

“The safe word is for _me_.  Without it _I_ wouldn’t be able to…”

“Wouldn’t be able to what?  I know blood letting isn’t exactly _vanilla_ but, I don’t… I haven’t…  What is it that you _want_?”

“What I can’t have with humans.  I look at you and I want to _take_ you in every way possible,”  His breathing hitches,  “I want to make you scream, with pleasure _and_ with pain.  I want to tear you apart and then put you back together, I want to bathe you in my blood.”  He has tears in his eyes, now.   “I want to _force_ you to orgasm, hurt you while you scream your ecstasy, _play_ with your pain - _enjoy_ it - then heal you.  I want you to beg and plead with me to stop and I want to be able to ignore you and keep going.  _Without_ a safe word, I can’t risk… I can’t do anything if I don’t _know,_ for certain, that you _can_ make me stop.”

“Is that what you had with Mazikeen?”  You ask quietly, not sure if you should be shocked rather than wildly turned on.

“No.  She always fought me, _I_ almost ended up needing a safe word.”  He smiled.

“And you don’t want _that_ with me?”

“No.  I already have more than enough pain in my life and, I don’t think that you…”

“I wouldn’t be able to hurt you, no.  Not beyond… what we’ve already done.”  You look around the room, nervously, at all the toys, you don’t even know which are for sex and which are just for… _hurting_.

“They belonged to Maze, _I_ won’t be using them; well, maybe some of the restraints but in general _I’m_ more hands on.”

“It’s the demon energy in me, isn’t it?”

He looks at you, questioningly.

“That’s _why_.  Maze said I was a human soul mixed with demon energy.  You’re the King of Hell, even _retired_ , you’re responding to the demon part of me.”

“Possibly.  The Detective says that you can’t go back to your apartment, for a while.  Obviously, I’ll have it thoroughly cleaned, again.”

“Way to change the subject.  Very natural.”  You smirk at Him.

“Not _really_ changing it, I was going to invite you to stay _here_ and suggest that _maybe_ we could explore certain urges and desires that we may have.”

“So long as we can _talk_.  You just _left_ , before because you thought I was _afraid_ of you and _I_ thought it was because you were angry at me for killing Cain and pissing off Detective Decker.  You could have _asked_ me if I was scared.”

“Agreed.  More talking, less assuming.”  He looks down at you when you shiver again.  “And more feeding, for you.  I doubt that there’s a single rat left in these tunnels, after last night.  You need the good stuff.” 

“You can’t imagine just _how_ good you taste, after...”  You shudder, remembering the rats that had felt your thirst and come to you in the tunnel.  You‘re grateful but their taste was gamey and cloying.  “And thank you for drinking all that water, today.  I don’t mind the taste of _scotch_ but cocaine makes blood taste like bleach.”

“The gunman had vast amounts…”

“Yeah.  Probably a good thing, made me get sick, quicker.”

“ _Would_ the other stuff in him have killed you?”

“I truly don’t know and there’s no one else I can ask, if _you_ don’t know.  It’s done _something_ , I feel very cold and shaky.  I had trouble getting back into my body but _your_ blood seems to be grounding me.  So, tell me what‘s been going on, why are people trying to kill me and what‘s up with your detective?”

He pulls you in closer and directs your mouth to His neck and, as you sink your fangs into Him, He wraps His wings around you, cocooning you in warmth.

“Firstly, The Detective…”  You can _feel_ his voice against your lips as well as hear it.  “..while _you_ were killing Cain, _I_ was in the middle of telling _her_ that I have a monstrous side that she’d never seen…  Then she finds out about Cain; to begin with, she blamed herself.  You left _no_ evidence that _you_ had ‘assisted‘, the authorities have had no reason to rethink the suicide verdict.”

“People are very easy to manipulate, in that state.”  You say, quietly, releasing His throat.  “Turning his hand and tightening his finger on the trigger was no problem.  He didn’t fight, he didn’t know what was happening.  Like shooting him in his _sleep_.”  You lick at the blood that’s running down Lucifer‘s collar bone and He shivers as you follow it back up to the source.

“More mercy than he deserved.”  He says.  “ _After_ he died, Charlotte and Amenadiel, who had been trying to find _proof_ that Cain was The Sinnerman, told The Detective, Daniel and Ms. Lopez all about their investigation.  My _complete_ lack of surprise made The Detective realize that _I_ already knew and _now_ she thinks that my ‘family issues’ are because I grew up in a rival organization.  She’s angry that I didn’t tell her about Pierce and she’s constantly watching me for ‘signs of my evil past’, which, presumably, include exploiting young runaways.”  He slides His hands down your back, teasingly.

“It‘s a role I‘ve _played_ ,”  You say, pressing yourself closer to Him.  “That first year; I would dress down, carry a bulging backpack and then hang around the bus station waiting for predators…  There’s usually _someone_ willing to offer a bed for the night, drugs or a drink, in exchange for...  Of course _I_ wasn’t _quite_ what they bargained for…“  You look up at Him with well practiced, wide, innocent eyes.  “Would you like to exploit me, Lucifer?”  You whisper, squirming against Him and feeling Him harden.

“When you’re feeling better, Darling, I’ll exploit you so _hard…_ “  You can hear the smirk in His voice.  “..but, for now, keep drinking, if there’s anything harmful in you, I want it diluted out.”

“Keep talking to me?”  You say, biting down on Him again and loving His reaction.

  “Of course.  Forensics have discovered dried blood on many of the rocks in Cain’s house, as _you_ said.  The current theory is that they are trophies from killings, hidden in plain sight amongst a larger collection.  As to the rest of it, it seems that, although Maze was _working_ with Cain for a while, they had had a falling out.  They _fought_ and she was going to kill him until he told her that he had a man watching Dr. Linda who would kill _her_ if anything happened to _him_.”

“Mazikeen cared _that_ much about her?”

“It seems so, despite all the effort she put in to convince us otherwise.  It’s probably why she was so hard on you for killing Cain.  She got to Linda’s in time to take out the hit-man but she blamed _you_ for what _could_ have happened.”

“So, Cain left a hit list.  Ungrateful of him, when he seemed so keen on the idea of dying.”

“Yes.  Turns out, he’d changed his mind.”

“ _Ridiculous_ , you said he told you he’d been trying to die for _centuries_ , why would he change his mind?”

“It makes _no_ sense, unless he _finally_ figured out where he‘d end up.  Daniel and Ms. Lopez both have contacts in the FBI so _they_ _’_ _re_ on board, now.  It seems that there’s a vast network of corrupt law enforcement, _all_ loyal to him, most of them believing he‘s still alive.  Anyway, we were checking out Cain’s home and he had files, on _everyone_.  He didn‘t have one on _you_ , though, so I thought you were safe.”

You want to cry with rage at the thought of Cain’s elaborate plan to have you murdered but that particular safety valve has been denied you since the night you turned.  You swallow more of Lucifer’s blood.  It’s uniquely comforting.


	8. Abandoned

 

You’re completely blissed out.  Lucifer has you manacled across the bed, face down, arms outstretched and has been demonstrating His sexual skills _and_ His skills with a riding crop.  The former you are already familiar with.

The latter are astounding.

Every hit has come _just_ as you’re on the brink of orgasm and is stinging and sharp enough to raise a welt on your back _and_ intensify your pleasure.  No two hits have been in the same place and now, either your back is one huge welt or it’s an artwork of raised lines that only Lucifer is in a position to see.

You’re in that voluptuous, languid, _trippy_ state of consciousness, that comes between sleep and waking and which no longer happens to _you_ , in the natural way.  You don’t sleep, you die.  You hadn’t realized just how much you’d missed feeling drowsy.

He’s still inside you but His movements have slowed to an almost hypnotic rhythm.  You’re practically melting into the mattress and, although pleasurable, what you’re feeling is less like sex, now and more like an incredibly sensuous massage. 

The riding crop has a loop of whisper-soft suede at its tip and Lucifer drags it the length of your spine, starting at the nape of your neck.  Nerve endings flare into life at its touch and you gasp and writhe under Him as He thrusts harder into you.  The final orgasm is shattering and leaves you moaning incoherently.  You barely notice when Lucifer unlocks the manacles.

“You should see your back, Darling.”  He says, when your breathing settles down.

“Mmm, show me?”

He snaps some pictures on His phone and you look.  As you suspected, an intricate pattern of lines are woven across the canvass of your skin.

“I think I’ll keep these, you heal so quickly, it’ll be gone by morning.”

“Can you send copies to _my_ phone?  I’d like to have a reminder.”  You ask, casually, although you’d love to have them printed out and hung on your wall as art.

“Of course.”

Your phone bleeps as the pictures arrive in your in-box.

“Luci, you in here?”  The voice is followed by its owner, through the door and taking in the view.  You know what Lucifer’s brother is seeing and you try to be as relaxed about it as Lucifer Himself.  “Luci, what are you _doing_?”  Amenadiel’s face is twisted with revulsion.

“Well, Brother,”  Lucifer says, lightly stroking the back of your neck, the smirk evident in His voice.  “Sometimes, when two people have a sexual relationship, _one_ of them has the emotional need to be submissive and this can bring out a dominant urge in the other…”

“I know what BDSM is, Luci, what I _don’t_ know is why _you_ would be practicing it with a child.”

“I am _not_ under _age_.”  You say, suddenly angry, turning and looking Amenadiel in the eyes.

“Bollocks.”  Lucifer says, as His brother sinks to his knees and tilts his head, effectively offering you his throat, his eyes wide and glazed.  “You can’t _still_ be thirsty.”

“No.”  You sigh, exasperated with yourself,  “It’s just… there’s always _some_ , below the surface.  I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean…”  You push your anger down and your thirst goes with it.  “He’s your _brother_ , he shouldn’t be affected.”

“He’s fallen.  Pretty much human, these days.”

Amenadiel blinks as he comes back to himself.  He stares at you with unconcealed loathing, obviously realizing what you are.

“Why are you allowing this _abomination_ to exist?”  He demands.

“That ‘abomination’ saved your life _and_ Charlotte‘s.”  Lucifer says, His voice dangerously calm.

“ _That’s_ what killed Cain?”

“As he was taking aim at _you_.”  You say.

“So, it admits that it’s a killer.”

“I didn’t _know_ Cain had lost his mark.  I was just trying to buy _you_ time.”  You say.

“ _Silence_.  This is between me and _him_.”  Amenadiel shouts at you and Lucifer positions himself protectively between the two of you.

“Why don’t you go for a shower, I’ll deal with this.”  Lucifer says, quietly.  You nod and, feeling very vulnerable, now, head off towards the bathroom.

“I’d thank you _not_ to shout at my friends.”  Lucifer says, as you walk away.  The last thing you hear, before you switch on the shower is Amenadiel’s furious voice:

“Tell me you haven’t shared any of your divinity with that _thing_.”

 _Almost as much of a buzz kill as Mazikeen_.  You think, as the hot water makes the nerve endings in your back tremble with remembered excitement.

***

When you get out of the shower, they’re both gone and you’re grateful to Lucifer for taking the argument elsewhere, this close to dawn.  You wouldn’t want to die for the day with those two fighting around you.

You feel more vulnerable than usual and so, instead of staying naked, you get dressed and, fighting the urge to hide _under_ the bed, you lie down on it and wait for daybreak.

***

Before you got your panic room, you occasionally, morbidly speculated on the worst places to wake at sunset. 

Cold storage in the morgue, having undergone an autopsy. 

In a coffin, buried six feet under the earth. 

Halfway through your own cremation…

 _This_ sunset, what you open your eyes on is _none_ of those; it’s something that you’d never even _considered_.

You’re in the trunk of a car, you think.  You can’t tell for sure because there’s a bag or a hood covering your head but engine sound and the way you’re being bumped around indicates _some_ sort of vehicle.

Your knees are crunched up under your chin, some kind of restraint wound around your body to keep your legs tightly folded.  Your arms have been pulled straight down either side and your wrists manacled to your ankles.  You can’t move - when this was done to you, you were utterly limp, every muscle relaxed in death, _now_ there‘s no wriggle room at all.  Your jaw aches from the ball gag and you know, with absolute certainty, that this is not _anything_ to do with Lucifer.

Would _He_ tie you up and put you in the trunk of a car?  Possibly, if there was a spectacular orgasm to be had from it but you _know_ that He would _never_ gag you.  His peace of mind depends on _your_ ability to use your safe word in _any_ situation and for _that_ you need to be able to speak.

You can’t breathe.  Your folded legs are compressing your rib cage and _that_ coupled with the gag and the thickness of the hood would have killed you quite quickly, had you still been human. 

The car stops.

You force yourself to relax and find that it’s not that difficult, it actually hurts less if you stop trying to struggle.  Maybe if your captor thinks you’re not awake yet, they’ll take the hood off and you’ll get the chance to use your eyes on them.  You put yourself into, what _you_ call, the ‘dead’ head-space and your body follows your lead, no one plays dead better than _you_.  When the trunk opens and the large muscular hands grab onto you - not gently - you give no indications of life.

‘ _Just a victim; young, innocent, no more than a child, **please** don’t hurt me…’   _ You fill your head with the impression that you want to convey, your eyes wide open and ready for the slightest glimpse of the other person’s, assuming they take off this damned hood…

You hit the ground without tensing or flinching, a good little corpse.  It feels soft under you.  Sand?  The beach?  You can’t hear the sea…  Are you going to be left for the tide?

“I know that you’re awake.”  Amenadiel’s voice is unmistakeable.  Of course, it could only be _him_.  “ _I_ won’t kill you; that’s a line I know I can’t cross, with Lucifer; I could never come _back_ from it.  Also, you saved my life and Charlotte’s… so there’s that…  It could be that my Father allowed your existence so you could _do_ that…  Which would mean that he has no more use for you… Then there’s my brother… sometimes he needs protecting from _himself_ … this is one of those times.  He’s my _test_ , has he told you?  From my Father.  You’ll understand, when the sun comes up and my Father judges you.”

He’s walking away and you desperately try to find enough air to make a sound.  Something pathetic and whiny that might call him back…

Nothing.

‘ _Please don’t leave, please come back, **please** you holier-than-thou bastard son of a bitch…I should have let Cain **kill** you.  Come back here and I’ll drain you like I drained Cain, every **drop** of your blood until I’m **bloated** with it!’_

You hear him drive away.

When you can’t hear the car anymore, you feel around with your fingers, trying to figure out exactly _how_ you’re restrained.  Your wrists, obviously, with Hell forged manacles, the ones Lucifer likes to see on you, the ones with a short length of chain between them; you feel along the links.

Rope, you realize with a thrill of excitement.  Your legs are bound to your body with rope, which is looped around the chain at your ankles.  You can break rope.  Amenadiel was probably in a hurry when he tied you, using stuff which was close at hand in the playroom.  You tense your legs against the chain and pull your wrists in the opposite direction, with a sharp jerk.  The rope breaks.

The manacles will have to stay on but at least your hands are in front of you _and_ , far enough apart to still be useful.  You reach up and remove the hood.  It’s the black leather one that Mazikeen liked _her_ sex partners to wear.  _Lucifer_ would _never_ put it on you, He likes to see your face, gauge your responses, _hear_ you.

Now that you can see, you pull off the rest of the rope and stretch your legs out.  With the pressure off your ribs, you can pull air in through your nose and you undo the fastening on the ball gag and gratefully spit it out.  Hateful thing.

You stretch and rub your legs to help the circulation, glad that you hadn’t been awake long, before Amenadiel left you.  If your heart had been beating for hours, trying to push blood around your tightly bound extremities, who knows how much you would have needed to replace.  As it is, you’re not even hungry.

You look around, trying to work out where you are.  Flat plains of sand, spanning miles, some distant mountains...  _Not_ the beach then. 

One of the deserts.

You are a creature of darkness and Amenadiel’s indistinct tyre tracks are vivid to your night vision and you set off, following them, tracking your prey.

***

You run faster than humans, usually but running is awkward with your hands manacled but you know that the tracks will be harder to find the second night, so you cover as many miles as possible before you feel the sun coming.

Then you dig.

It takes slightly longer, with the restraints but you soon have a deep enough hole to protect you for the day and you climb in.  With the leather hood back on - an extra layer of protection - you pull the last of the sand in on top of you and wait to die.

***

By nightfall, predictably, the soft sand has swallowed any tracks and all you have _now_ is your awareness of the direction of sunrise.  It would help if you knew which desert you were _in_ but geography isn’t your strong subject.  Pity, it would be _much_ more useful, right now, than your English degree.  Still, you know the basics; L.A. is on the west coast, so, wher _ever_ you are, if you keep heading west you’ll eventually run out of land.  Of course, you’re bound to hit civilisation _long_ before then.

You’re still not hungry, Lucifer’s blood is wonderfully sustaining and He’s been _so_ generous with it lately, so you sprint along, happily imagining what torments He might be visiting on His worthless brother.

Does He even _know_ that Amenadiel’s responsible?  _That_ thought almost pulls you up, what if Lucifer thinks that you just… _left_?

You theorise that you were grabbed while Lucifer was away from Lux, probably out working, with Detective Decker; Amenadiel then took you out through the tunnels to his car and drove you to… wherever here is.  After that?

Would Amenadiel drive back and proudly tell his brother what he’d done?  No.  If _that_ was the case, Lucifer would have come to look for you, He would _never_ have left you to face the dawn.

The _sensible_ thing, for Amenadiel, would be to go to wherever he called home and pretend nothing had happened.  Then what?  Lucifer would find _you_ gone.  If it’s _before_ sunset, he’ll have proof of foul play, if it’s _after_ … you _could_ have just gone voluntarily.  He might phone you or go to your apartment but would He _worry_ if He couldn’t find you?

You don’t know.

On the one hand, Lucifer’s been quite protective, since Cain’s posthumous murder attempt on you but, on the _other_ hand, He’s _Lucifer_ and you’re…  An abomination, apparently.

You _do_ understand where Amenadiel and Mazikeen are coming from, with their low opinions of you.  Literature has shaped the popular image of the vampire - suave, sophisticated, sexy - but _before_ … the original folklore of filthy, mindless, little better than zombies, crawling from their graves, driven by a thirst that can never be quenched…

Like the ones that murdered Jezz and turned _you_.  The ones that - when alive - had been, if not your friends, at least people you _thought_ you knew.  The ones that, after, only retained the _worst_ of their humanity and no restraining sense of wrong or right.  The ones that beat you semi-conscious, drained you almost to death then poured their demon tainted blood into you.

There but for the grace of Lucifer…

You’d been lucky that Lucifer’s visit had occurred in that brief window - for you - between waking and losing yourself to the bloodlust.  You’d still been in shock from your own death, your soul trapped in your body, the new, exciting demon component not yet dominant.

You owe your sanity to Him.  Your _balance_ , your control and you _meant_ what you told Him in your text.  If He were no longer _there_ for you, you would die before you allowed yourself to revert to what you would be without Him.

You’d had a taste, that _first_ year, of losing control.  The urge to take more than was safe for your donor.  The _urge_ that became a _want_ that became a _need_ that became an _inevitability_ …  Staying in, for the safety of any random human who crossed your path.  Not tasting blood for a full month before braving the crowds at Lux to get your yearly fix…

And He wonders _why_ you love Him.

You slow down as you hear a sound, like sheets blowing on a washing line…

“ _There_ you are, Darling.”  He’s standing in front of you, shrugging His wings away and smiling His relief.  “You’re going in quite the wrong direction, you know.  If you were planning to walk all the way back to L.A., that is.”

“I wasn’t, I was _hoping_ to find a phone.  Oddly enough, your brother didn’t point me towards the nearest town, when he dumped me.”

“I found the gag and the broken rope, you’ve travelled further than I thought you would have.”

His arms are around you, now.

“He said he was leaving me to be judged by your father.”

“And instead, Dad seems to have judged _him_.”

“Yeah?” 

“Yes.  As he was driving back onto the highway, he was subjected to a ‘random stop and search’ for the suspected crime of…”

“Driving an expensive car while black?”  You finish for Him.  “Racist cops, _imagine_.”

“Well, not _entirely_ unprovoked.  It _was_ a bit suspicious for him to be driving out of the desert, in a car that was _clearly_ unsuited to off-roading.  They found your phone in the boot… sorry, trunk.  They saw the pictures, they think he was burying you out here.”

“So, I get to play ‘murder victim’ again.”

“We need to get you home.  Put your arms around me.”

“I’d love to.“  You say, showing Him the manacles that you’re still wearing.

“Just put them over my head, then.”  He says, tightening His arms around you.  His wings unfurl again.  “You might want to close your eyes.”

You do and, after a weird _gut-wrenching_ moment, He releases you and you open them again.  You’re both standing in the playroom.

“How do you get through solid objects?”  You ask, as He unlocks the manacles just by touching them.

“Something akin to molecular displacement.  It’s what causes the nausea that you’re feeling.  Do you need blood?”

“Not as much as I need a shower, I’ve got sand _everywhere_.”

“I’ll help you with that.  Then we need to talk about what happens next.”

***


	9. The Interview

 

“Where _is_ Amenadiel?”  You ask, shedding your robe and slipping into bed next to Lucifer.

“Not about to charge in _here_ again, if that’s what’s worrying you.  He’s still in police custody.”

“He didn’t make bail?”

“Where did _you_ spend the day?”  He asks, unexpectedly.

“In a shallow grave, where else?”

“ _I_ spent it explaining, to the police departments of _two_ states, that, as _you_ are a consenting adult, _I_ am not guilty of _any_ of a long, largely speculative, list that they had, of possible crimes committed against a minor.  Amenadiel, _hopefully_ , spent the day thinking about what he’d done.  I called in a favour and made _sure_ he didn‘t get bail.”

“Why did the police..?  _Oh_ because the pictures came from _your_ phone.”

“Yes.  Also, I might have made an excessive number of _calls_ to you, when I thought you’d left.“  He pulls you close and you luxuriate in his warmth. 

“You got back _after_ sunset, then.  You thought I went voluntarily.”

“Did he hurt you?”  You can hear the guilt in His voice and you want to take it away.

“No.  He wasn’t _gentle_ and he tied me _way_ tighter than I’m happy with but he waited until _after_ sunset to drop me off.  He said that killing me would be crossing a line, with you, that he couldn’t come back from.”

“I have no right to ask this and you are, as ever, free to say no…  Would you consent to be interviewed by The Detective…  They need a statement from you.”

“You want me to say it didn’t happen?”

“No.  You can’t outright _lie_ to The Detective, her instincts are too good…”

“But _you_ want Amenadiel _out_ of the shit?”

“Oh, he’ll still be in the shit with _me_ but it’s probably best that he _not_ end up in jail.”

“So you want me to tell your Detective the truth but still manage to lie?  I’ll try to channel my inner Lucifer.”

“There’s a lot of me in there.”  He says with His trademark smirk.

***

The room has clearly been designed to put victims of violent and/or sexual crimes, at ease, with its calming colour scheme, soft lighting and comfortable furniture.

You are nervous as Hell.

“I’m Detective Decker and I’d like to assure you, that you are not accused of anything and you can leave at any time.  Having said that, I would appreciate detailed answers to my questions, if possible.  You‘re not being recorded but I will be taking notes.  Afterwards, we draw up a formal statement and when you‘re happy with it, you sign it.”

“Where’s Lucifer?”  You ask.

“It was felt that because of he and his brother’s involvement, that it would be best if Lucifer has no part in this.  He isn’t even in the building.”

Your nervousness ramps up.

“They don’t feel that, as Lucifer’s partner, _you_ might be compromised?”  You ask, trying to make _her_ nervous, now.

“You are free to request another officer, if you’d like.”

You pretend to weigh up your options.

“No, it’s alright, ask your questions.”

“Firstly, I’d like you to talk me through, _these_.”  She slides A4 size glossy prints of the ‘incriminating photos’ from your phone, across the table.

Their beauty makes you gasp but you realize that Decker sees them differently.  The detail is incredible, Lucifer‘s a natural when it comes to framing - landscape, to be certain of seeing your limp arms, at ninety degrees to your body, wrists slightly chafed from the manacles which are unlocked but clearly visible either side.  It’s recognisably _you_ , obviously relaxed and sexually sated, a soft smile on your face, just visible from the angle of your head as you looked back at Lucifer while He photographed the ‘art’ He had left on your skin.  The raised, perfectly spaced welts crisscrossing your back from just below your neck all the way down to your waist.  The photos show no ‘X-rated’ body parts but still manage to be unbelievably sexual.

“Were you drugged?”  Decker asks.

“Excuse me?”  Her question takes you by surprise.  “Of course not, why would you think..?”

“Your pupils are dilated and you’ve been… er.. beaten… with… er…”

“A riding crop.”  You tell her, helpfully.  **_Beaten_** , so _not_ the word you would have chosen.

“Riight.  By Lucifer.”

“Yes.  The reason my pupils were dilated was probably the intense orgasm I’d just finished having.”

“Best night of your life,”  Decker mutters.  You don’t know if she meant for you to hear but you answer, anyway.

“Certainly near the top of that list, yes.”

“Can I _see_ your back?”

You’d been expecting that.  You get up, turn around and pull up your T-shirt so she can see how unmarked you are.

“Not even a bruise.”  You say.

“Lucifer _enjoys_ hurting people during sex?”  Decker asks and you sigh, as you sit back down, how to make her understand...

“He enjoys pleasing His sexual partners, giving them what they desire.  It’s different for everyone.”  You say.

“And _you_ desired _this_.”  She indicates the pictures and, rather than explain to her the dynamics of your sexual relationship with Him, you nod.  “But what about _his_ desires, what pleases _him_?”  She asks, unexpectedly.

You flash back to last night, in the shower, after the sand was washed away.  You, on your knees at His feet, swallowing Him as no human _ever_ could - no breath, no gag reflex, just His hardness filling your throat.  _Your_ hands on His firm ass, _His_ hands behind your head, His face a study in lust as He urged you to slide your fangs into His hot silky flesh… and finally crying out as He came undone while you gazed up at Him with raw adoration…

“You would have to ask _Him_.  I suspect that it changes depending on who He‘s with.”  You say, wishing she’d change the subject.

“When did you two meet?”

“Six years ago, the year after He came to L.A.”  Slightly safer ground.

“And you were how old?”

“I was eighteen.”

“What were the circumstances of that meeting?”

“I’d rather not go into specifics but I _am_ prepared to say that He saved my life, that night.”

“So, what are you now, his sex slave?  Is that what your deal is about, you owed him, so..?”

“You _think_ that Lucifer Morningstar, vociferous exponent of truth and free will, would demand _sex_ from someone in exchange for saving their life?”  You leap to your feet, instantly _furious_ ; looking into Decker‘s eyes and realizing that any _other_ human would be offering themselves to you on a plate, by now - an instinct for appeasement that Decker clearly lacks.  “ _How_ long have you known Him?”  You force yourself to be calm, there are other, susceptible people in the building and _you_ have to get out, without drawing attention.  “He can have _sex_ with almost anyone on the planet, just by _asking._ Coercing them in any way would be like… _rape!”_ You head towards the door.  “I’m leaving.”

“Please don’t.”  She says, taking a step towards you and having the decency to look ashamed.  “I’m sure he’s _not_ like that, I just wanted to hear someone else confirm it.  Since Pierce… I’ve found it hard to trust my instincts… if I can be _so_ wrong about someone…”

“You thought you’d maybe been _that_ wrong about Lucifer, too?”  You almost feel sorry for her, the press coverage had been brutally invasive.

“He keeps insisting that he’s a _monster_ , that and the stuff about his family… if that’s a euphemism for organized crime, maybe he was pushing you into porn or pimping you out to…” 

“No.  The pictures were just for the two of us and I would never let anyone _else_ make me that helpless.  He’s the only one that I trust.  Off the record, just for _your_ peace of mind; His family?  Extremely powerful but _not_ organized crime.”

Decker stares at you for a long moment, maybe trying to gauge the level of truth.  Then she drinks some of the water which is on the table between you and picks up her notes again. 

“Please don’t tell him I asked you that.”  She says, at last.

“I won’t.  I don’t think I could stand to see that level of hurt in His eyes.”  You tell her, coldly.  She flinches.

“I’m sorry, this is unprofessional of me.  I’ll try to keep to the point.”

“If you could.”  You say, calm again.

“How long, after you met, before you became lovers?”

“Exactly a year later.  I wasn’t even close to being underage.”

“No.  You don’t text like a teenager and you’ve _explained_ why you look so young.”

“Text?”

“You punctuate them.”

“I have a degree in English.  From an online education package.”  You add, before she asks about the college that you didn’t go to.

“It must be hard, not going out in the day.”

“Yes.”  You agree.

“Tell me about Amenadiel, when did you _first_ meet him?”

“He walked in on us, moments after those pictures were taken.  Not the _best_ first impression I ever made.”  _Not the worst, either._   You think, remembering _Lucifer’s_ first sight of you.

“You’ve been seeing Lucifer for six years and his brother only just met you?”

“Lucifer and I aren’t _dating_.  His family usually take no interest in His sexual partners.” 

“So, Amenadiel meets you, for the first time, then, within hours, kidnaps you and dumps you out in the desert.  Why do you think he did that to you?”

“That’s what he’s admitted to?”  You ask. 

Decker looks surprised, as if she was expecting you to be caught out.

“In his statement he says, when asked about _you,_  quote: ‘ _I took **it** out to the desert and left **it** for my father to deal with_.’ unquote.  The interviewing officer took ’ **it** ’ to mean your _body_.  Amenadiel then rambled on about how his brother was destined to be with someone _else_ , someone their father approved of.  Are Lucifer’s family trying to force him into an arranged marriage?”

“It certainly sounds that way.”  You don’t elaborate.  Decker immediately changes tack.

“Do you _know_ their father?”

“Only by reputation.  With the exception of Lucifer, his rule over the family is absolute but, from what I‘ve heard, he‘s stopped _communicating_ with them, stopped telling them what he _wants_ and is leaving them to just… guess.”

“So, dumping you out in the desert to die..?  _Allegedly_.”

“Hypothetically, if Amenadiel believed that he was doing his father’s will, the fact that he was arrested almost _immediately,_ would have proved to him that he _wasn’t_.  He won’t come after me again.  _If_ he came after me in the first place.”

“Are you saying that Amenadiel’s _father_ had him arrested?  That he somehow _knew_ what had happened and arranged for the P.D. to pick him up?”

“It’s possible that he did but, no, what _I’m_ saying is that _Amenadiel_ believes that that is what happened.”

“And the charges should be dropped?”

“There’s nothing anyone could take to court.  I’m obviously unharmed…”

“Yes, _I’d_ like to know, just how _did_ someone with _your_ condition survive a full day, in the _desert_ , with no shelter or protection..?”

“And _that_ , Detective Decker, _should_ be proof enough that Amenadiel has been wrongly arrested.”

“Is it because Lucifer owns your building?  Do you think he’d evict you?  Are you afraid of his family?  We _can_ protect you, you know.”

“Witness protection would be useless against that family, believe me.  You can‘t _hide_ from them.” 

“Have they paid you off?”

“ _No_.  Please, I know it’s hard for you to understand; Lucifer and I are friends but also, yes, there _are_ favours between us.  I owe Him my life _and_ my sanity - _that_ deal is ongoing, either of us breaking it would mean _my_ death -  but He also owes _me_ for… various things, too… I’ve lost track.  _He_ keeps score.  I have to weigh up which means more, His continued friendship or trying to prosecute Amenadiel with just _my_ word against _his_ , for a non-event.  There _is_ no contest.”

“He keeps score, you said, does he have _files_ for all his favours?  Pierce had so many…”  She looks haunted for a few seconds.

“No.  He remembers.”

“And, presumably _Amenadiel_ will owe you, now?”

“No.  That’s not his thing.  Unlike Lucifer - who has had a _very_ long time to get used to it and is, in any case, estranged - Amenadiel isn‘t dealing very well with his father‘s silence.  From what you’ve told me about his statement, I would guess that he’s trying to get his father’s attention.”

“So, to summarise,”  Decker looks at her notes.  “You and Lucifer are both consenting adults, neither of you is being exploited in any way, no money is changing hands and Amenadiel is acting out because his father won’t speak to him.  That about the size of it?”

“Yeah, that covers it.  You want me to sign that in front of witnesses..?”

***

“So,”  You say, passing the joint back to Lucifer.  “It should be over, now.  I signed all the paperwork, the rest of it’s up to Amenadiel.”

“No, have some more.”  He passes it back and you take another deep drag; you’ve only recently found out that it has an effect on you, a fact that Lucifer is _very_ excited about.  “You need to be relaxed.”

“Got something planned?”  You ask, pulling more smoke into your lungs and holding it for an inhumanly long time.

“Remember our _first_ time, together?”  He asks, holding up the restraints from that night.

“Always.”  You reply, on a cloud of smoke.

“Same position, hands chained in front and I want you _completely_ relaxed, _not_ like the first time.”

“That first time, I hadn’t had human blood in just over a month.  My control had started to slip and I couldn’t risk it.”

He kisses you as He tightens the manacles.

“You should have come to me sooner, Darling, I wouldn’t have minded.”

“The deal was for a year, I didn’t know you well enough, then, to presume.”

“You were so _tense -_ your body literally _closed_ \- not something I‘d ever seen before.  Even lubed I couldn’t have got my smallest finger into you, without damaging something.” 

“And you told me that you didn’t do rape but _I’d_ been looking forward to the sex for a whole _year_ , probably more than the blood.

He finishes getting you into position, kneels on the bed behind you and slides in, in one smooth stroke.

He puts His arms around you, settles back on His heels and pulls you onto His lap.  You relax into His warmth.

“Yes, exactly like that.  You don’t have to do _anything_ , just let go, completely.”

His voice is soft against your ear - soothing - and you feel everything loosen by a few degrees.  Your head rests back on His shoulder.

He starts to roll His hips.

The sensations are subtle - the smooth tip of Him barely grazing that special place inside of you - and you melt a little more, sinking lower, making the contact more tangible.

You feel soft and warm and wide open, the heat of Him pressed to your back and His strong warm hands gliding over the front of you.

It almost feels as though His hands are searching for something specific, staying away from anything remotely erogenous, barely skimming your skin…

You don’t care.  What Lucifer is doing inside you is much more exciting.

You’ve never had sex like this, without feeling that you have to _do_ something, tighten muscles, work out what pleases your partner, touch, _move_ …  All you have to do, it seems, is lay against Him and wait.

With every movement of His hips, every scrape of the tip of Him in you, the feeling builds.  Like a tsunami, far out at sea, barely noticeable until it approaches the shallows and then starts to stack up, higher and higher, nowhere to go but up and up and up and then crest at the top, hover for a few precious seconds and then…

Break.

Lucifer’s fingers stiffen and dig _hard_ into your torso, precisely targeting two pressure points.  There’s a thud in your chest as every muscle in your body contracts and then freezes in unnatural tension.  The orgasm (can you call it that?) thrums through you, rippling outward from your centre, flowing and washing back over and over again, as though it will never stop.

A high pitched keening cry fills the room and you know that when the breath it’s carried on runs out, you’ll have to be silent because you’re too paralyzed to draw more air into your lungs.

The pain is stupendous and you’ve never felt ecstasy like it.

With a groan, Lucifer releases His fingers as _His_ climax pulses deep inside you and your tortured muscles all relax simultaneously, as though the strings have been cut and you turn boneless against His chest.

“Fuck.”  You say, when your lungs finally cooperate.

“How was it?”  He asks, innocently.

“How was it… mmm, how do I put this?”  You say, quietly,  “You stopped my **_heart_** , Lucifer.  Literally.  What do you even _call_ that and please don’t tell me you’ve _ever_ done it to someone who’s _properly_ alive.”

“ _No_.  I’ve never done it to _anyone_ , before.  It’s a combination of a lethal martial arts move and a pseudo-tantric sex technique.  I'm calling it The Death Shag.  What did it _feel_ like?”

“The pain was stratospheric, like nothing I’ve ever felt and stayed conscious through but it fed the pleasure until it was…”  You don’t have the words.  “What did it feel like for you?”  You ask, instead.

“Like a very precious part of my anatomy was being crushed in a vice.  Pain and pleasure indivisible and, as you said, stratospheric.  Do you feel it’s something you could ever stand to do again?”  You can hear the hope that tinges His voice and realize that _this_ is probably His new craving.

“I don’t know, it’s _so_ intense.  Special occasions, maybe and definitely no more than say… once… a.. week.”

He snorts His surprise and then the two of you are laughing like teenagers.

***


	10. Stealth

 

“So, what  _exactly_  did you tell The Detective about my family?” Lucifer asks.

“Almost nothing. She was disturbed by the idea that they might be organized crime so I reassured her that, although powerful, they’re not a criminal organization.” You tell Him.

“That explains it. I found her Google-ing various royal families, worldwide, probably hoping to find a photo of  _me_ ; doubtless captioned ‘Black Sheep‘.”

“The one they never talk about.” You agree, with a smile. “Amenadiel didn’t help; his statement to the police made it sound as if you were being pushed into an arranged marriage. It’s a logical conclusion for your detective, it fits your lifestyle and your seemingly unlimited funding.”

“On the subject of lifestyle, I have a surprise for you.”

***

“Are your eyes tightly shut?” He asks.

“Yes.” You reply, puzzled. Lucifer has led you down one of the passageways off the main tunnel, all the way to a seemingly dead end. A wall of rock. Now He wants you to close your eyes?

“Walk forwards, slowly. Don’t worry, I’m right behind you.” His hands are on your shoulders, guiding you towards… what? A broken nose? You instinctively put your hand out in front of you.

You keep walking, somehow your hand hasn’t touched the wall yet, even though you’re sure that it was only a couple of steps away. You resist the urge to open your eyes.

“You can look, now.”

You gasp as you look around, somehow you’re standing in a suite of rooms that resemble your old basement apartment - a place that neither you or Lucifer is comfortable with  _you_  going back to - insofar as all your stuff is here.

“How?” You ask, turning around and seeing what looks like a blank wall behind you.

“It’s a glamour. Nothing from in here can get through to the tunnel - light, sound, the smell of coffee or weed - nothing. You’ll be safe in here and you can come and go as you please.”

“So I just walk up to the wall and then through it?” You put your hand out to touch the wall and there’s nothing solid, your fingers just go through.

“Yep.” Lucifer says proudly, popping the ‘P’. “That’s why there’s less lighting out there, in case my brother’s hanging around, you’ll see him before he sees you.”

“He’s still mad at me, huh?”

“He’s mad at  _me_ , you he  _loathes_.”

“I get why, what I  _don’t_ get is why he won’t see that I’m not like the others.”

“Falling seems to have taught him nothing. He‘s still got a rather large stick up his arse.”

“You’ve even put in a panic room.” You say, walking round the space, in wonder. He’s put in a  _recreational_ bedroom, too - huge bed with plenty of restraint possibilities…

“Yeah. Mum was going to blow up Lux, one time; if anything that drastic was to happen, that room would survive.”

“Let’s hope it’s never tested.” You put your head round the door to find that He’s made up your smaller bed and the stuffed cat is waiting on the pillow. You hug Him, wanting to cry into His shirt. It’s weird, when you were  _alive_ , you hated to cry because you cried when you were angry, mostly and it made you look weak. Now that you can’t do it anymore…

“I’ve not upset you, have I Darling?”

“Thank you  _so_ much, Lucifer. It’s wonderful.”

“There’s more room for your books and DVDs and I’ve put your calendar up in your panic room, like before. Tell me, Darling, what exactly do you  _do_ on the full moon?”

You laugh, He’d noticed that the full moon nights were marked off.

“That’s when I take blood from Mrs. C.”

“She knows what you are?”

“I’m not sure  _how_ word got out but, at one point I had quite a few people who would  _pay_ to be bitten. Men, mostly - for the sexual thrill - but Mrs. C. is into alternative medicine and she likes to be bled once a month, when the moon is full. For her migraines.”

“Does it work?”

“ _She_ says it does. She was buying leeches online, before she heard about me but she thinks  _I’m_ more effective.”

“And you charge for this?”

“The men, yeah, when I was still having to pay rent, buy books and stuff. I don‘t see them so much, anymore. Mrs. C. I do for free, she’s a sweetheart and her blood is really pure - because of her diet - with you donating so often, I don’t  _have_ to feed on humans, these days but I won‘t let  _her_ down.”

“Speaking of…” He starts to undo His shirt.

“Ooh, do you wanna try out the new bed?” You ask, a thrill of excitement running through you.

***

You know that something is badly wrong, as soon as you open your eyes at sunset. You feel jumpy,  _almost_  like you’d fed on someone whose blood was full of amphetamines but not  _quite_ ; more like tiny, hot insects crawling through your bloodstream.

Lucifer.

Somehow, you  _know_  He needs help. You pick up your phone, then stop yourself, just in time, from calling Him - if He‘s in trouble you shouldn‘t draw attention to His phone. Instead, you  _track_  it. The blip on the map, is somewhere in the more industrial area of the city and, weirdly, when you head His newly acquired, environmentally friendly, electric car in that direction, you feel slightly  _less_  uncomfortable.

The  _easing_  of the feeling in your blood, continues and only gets bad again when the road layout forces you to drive in the wrong direction. You’re definitely being  _led_.

At last, as you drive by a large storage facility, you realize that you’re at the end of your impromptu quest.

Your blood is finally quiet and you can smell His.

The main gates are closed but not locked, so you  _carefully_  open one and, killing the lights, drive into the parking area. You park the beautifully quiet car in a dark corner, by some token trees and, satisfied that no one has seen or  _heard_ you drive up, you slip silently through the shadows to the, mostly, dark building.

Now that you’re in the loading area, you can smell  _Decker’s_  blood, as well as Lucifer’s. ‘ _Naturally_ ,’ You think, rolling your eyes. ‘ ** _He_** _wouldn’t be in trouble if **she** wasn’t there_.’ The scent trail is strongest at the back of a white van, so you figure it was used to bring them both here. You cautiously follow a trail of blood spots to a slightly open door with a crack of dim light spilling out. You listen for a few seconds, then you pull out your phone and punch 911.

Once you know that the ambulance is on its way, you slip silently through the door.

Decker is tied to an office chair and the five men are taking turns firing questions at her. Mostly questions about Cain, it seems. Her answers are, clearly,  _not_  what the men want to hear and Decker’s voice is slurred, she’s either got a head injury or she’s been drugged.

The so-called truth drug, maybe?

The men haven’t noticed  _you_  yet, they’re far too busy swivelling Decker’s chair around and shouting and, by the look on  _her_  face, you suspect that she’s about to throw up.

You reach inside yourself for your ever present but easily - thanks to Lucifer - suppressible, thirst and let it out. You give an exaggerated cough and five pairs of eyes focus on you. Your thirst hits them like an invisible wave and the men are instantly quiet. A second later, they’re all on their knees. Two minutes after that, they are all face down on the floor, secured to each other, by their wrists and ankles, with plastic cable ties. You stick a post-it note on the one closest to the door and step back to admire the effect - very ‘Blair Witch Project’ you think with satisfaction.

Leaving Decker’s chair facing her  _away_ from the action, you follow the scent of Lucifer’s blood, to another room. There’s a narrow sofa and He’s sprawled untidily on it, blood seeping from a bruised cut on His forehead. One of His shirt sleeves has been ripped open and there’s a telltale needle mark in the crook of His elbow.

Damn. You’ll have to carry Him.

Aware that Decker’s ambulance could be here anytime, you snag His jacket from the floor, then wrestle Him onto your shoulder in a classic fireman lift, grateful that  _He_  wasn’t on the floor. It’s not the  _weight_  of Him - you’re  _way_  stronger than a human - it’s the height difference. Lucifer is six foot three of muscle mass and long limbs; currently dead weight - limp as jell-o.

Outside, you carefully pour Him into the back seat of the car.

“D’tec’ive?” He mumbles.

“No. It’s me.” You say. He waves His naked wrist, the torn shirt sleeve flapping. “Bek’fuss?” He offers.

“I’ll pass, thank-you.” You say, securing Him with the seatbelt - tricky - He keeps sliding sideways. “ _One_  of us needs to have a clear head, for driving.”

“Kite wite.” He says, His eyes gazing into yours for a second - almost lucid - before they roll back and He flops forward, only the seatbelt holding Him up. He doesn’t look safe, that way, so you end up laying Him on His side across the seats, bending His knees until He fits the space and then fastening the seat belts strategically around Him. You close the door, hoping that you don’t have to stop suddenly. As you’re flooring it out of there, you see the ambulance in your rear view mirror, heading in.

***

“Where’s The Detective?” Lucifer asks, later, seemingly recovered, sitting up and looking over the back of the driver’s seat at you. “And why does my mouth taste like I’ve been licking dust?”

“ _She’s_  in the hospital and  _you_  had a head injury and  _then_  you were drugged.” You say, handing Him a bottle of water from the glove box. “This should help. Do you remember what happened?” You start the car up and reverse out of the parking bay.

“ _She_  was driving… there was a van…”

“A white one. It had a dent and paint scrapes on the side. Did it run you off the road?”

“I think… maybe. How did you find us? How did you know to  _look_?”

“I knew you were in trouble, when I woke up. So, I tracked your phone.”

“You  _knew_?”

“I had an overwhelming feeling of distressed Devil - I have so much of your blood in me, these days and it was practically  _fizzing;_ I  _could_  have found you without the phone. I figured it was quicker, though; better safe than sorry…”

“Good call. Where are we?”

“Around two miles from the hospital that has your detective in it. I needed to be sure we’d be far enough away for you to heal.”

“What happened to the ones who did this?” He asks, grumpily fastening the cuff of His ripped sleeve and putting His jacket back on to hide the damage.

“There were five of them, they were questioning your detective about Cain. They don’t believe he’s dead and, I think, they thought that the two of  _you_ would know where he’d gone. I imagine the LAPD have them by now. I left them neatly tied and labelled.”

“Plastic ties and post it notes, by any chance, Darling?”

“Yeah. My secret’s out, I take it.”

“You’ve not really impacted on the homicide department but I’ve  _heard_  of ‘The Post-it Note Vigilante’. That’s you, yes?”

“Dumb name. My early days, hunting on the streets, I tried to stick to  _bad_  people…”

“The ‘Anne Rice’ principle?”

“Yeah. I  _look_  young and helpless, I make great bait for the more predatory element.“

“The ultimate wolf in sheep’s clothing…“

“Trouble was, I didn’t like releasing them back into the wild…”

“Hence the plastic ties.”

“But I didn’t want someone letting them go or thinking that they were  _victims_ …”

“So you labelled them with their crimes.”

“And called the PD so they knew where to find them.”

“You could have done that to Cain.”

“If I’d known he was suddenly  _mortal_ , I  _would_  have. It would have taken slightly longer, I might not have found shelter in time but…”

“No. If you’d done that, he’d probably have been rescued by his own corrupt cops. You might have been exposed to sunlight and my brother and Charlotte would  _still_ have been in danger.”

“I don’t feel  _guilty_  about killing him, it wasn’t like I was  _hunting_.”

“You just use your thirst to subdue, like earlier tonight?”

“Yeah, between  _your_  generosity and donors, like Mrs. C., I don’t need to hunt.”

You pull up, outside the hospital.

“Would you like me to leave  _you_  the car and Uber back?” You ask, as He gets out.

“No, Darling, I’ve no idea how long I’ll be here,  _you_  take this unnatural monstrosity, I’ll make my own way.”

“Hey, you  _bought_  the thing, I’m only driving it, tonight because I thought that  _stealth_ might be called for.”

***

You park the car where it belongs, with the rest of Lucifer’s, in His private parking section, under Lux. You’ve got a lot on your mind, as you make your way toward the elevator, mostly wondering if Decker was as out of it as she’d seemed, while you were tying up the bad guys. You hope so, after all, she couldn’t help but recognize you…

Abruptly, you’re jumped from behind and a black cloth bag is rammed down over your head. Your hands go up to it automatically but it’s futile, you feel a drawstring tighten around your neck.

“Don’t bother. It’s tied.” Amenadiel says, pushing you away from him. “The desert didn’t work out so well. It’s time I was more  _direct_. I‘m  _not_ going to kill you but you‘re going to wish I had.”

He’s underestimated you - a mistake so many people make - the cloth of the bag is dark enough to prevent  _him_  from seeing - and being controlled by - your eyes but not thick enough to keep  _you_  from seeing out. Admittedly your new vision of the world is hazier than you’re used to and the muted lighting in the parking garage doesn’t help but, you still see him when he raises his weapon above his head.

It’s a baseball bat;  _bloody Hell, what a drama queen_ , you think, paraphrasing Lucifer inside your head. Lucifer who’ll probably be at the hospital, watching over His detective, all night. You’re on your own and Amenadiel’s about to swing.

That’s his second mistake. He draws his arm back, the weight of the bat behind him, now and you leap towards him, grabbing his arm and using his own momentum to over balance him, backwards onto the concrete. Two thumbnails digging  _hard_  into strategic points on his arm and his hand flies open and the bat clatters and rolls away.

You circle him, waiting for his next move, while resisting the urge to kick him. That would be a  _huge_  mistake on your part because if he grabs your foot he’ll put you on  _your_  back and then, because of his sheer bulk,  _he_ _’ll_  have the advantage.

You don’t attempt to untie the drawstring from around your neck, too obvious a move, which would leave you distracted and easy prey. Neither are you going to run. This needs to be settled.

He struggles to his feet.

“How  _dare_  you.” He rumbles in fury.

“What? How dare I  _defend_  myself?” You ask, incredulously.

“How dare you disarm a soldier of God?”

You shake your head in wonder - did he think you’d simply  _let_ him beat you to a pulp?

“He arms  _all_ his soldiers with baseball bats? You’re just a  _human_ , I eat  _them_  for breakfast.” You say, trying to provoke him into acting without thinking. It works and he charges at you. At the last moment, you side step, slip your foot between his ankles and watch as he trips, spectacularly, into one of the pillars.

“Can’t you just accept that I exist?” You ask, as he gets up again. “Did your time in police custody teach you nothing?”

“You can’t  _fight_  me, you’re a  _submissive_.” He says, as though it’s a fact of nature.

“Only for Him.” You say, quietly, rolling your eyes and wondering at his strange logic. “No one else.”

“You’ve corrupted my brother.” He says and you can’t help yourself; you laugh.

Mistake.

He seizes the moment and gets both of his hands around your neck. Before he can crush your windpipe, you jab both your thumbnails into the nerves behind his ears and he lets go of you with a satisfying scream. You swiftly follow up with a hard knee to the testicles and, when he drops and hunches over in agony, you bring the knee up sharply to his head and he slides to the floor, unconscious.

You untie the drawstring and remove the bag from your head.

Back in your secure suite of rooms, later, you text Lucifer.

( **Bat Emoji** )  _‘Amenadiel attacked me as I was leaving your car, I had to call an ambulance for him (concussion and a groin injury). Sorry.’_

 _(_ **Devil Emoji** ) ‘ _Was it necessary to hurt him THAT badly, Darling?’_

( **Bat Emoji** ) ‘ _He put a bag over my head and he had a baseball bat that he was more than happy to use.’_

 _(_ **Devil Emoji** ) ‘ _Apologies, were you hurt?_ ’

( **Bat Emoji** ) ‘ _No, I’ll tell you about it when you get back. Look out for him, they might take him to the same hospital as your detective. He says I’ve corrupted you!_ ’

 _(_ **Devil Emoji** ) ‘ _ROFLMAO_ ’

***

“What’s the picture quality like?” You ask, looking over His shoulder at the computer screen. He’s watching CCTV footage of your fight with Amenadiel.

“Good enough for me to be thoroughly entertained, Darling. Any chance you could fight  _me_  that way, next time I’m in a bad mood?”

“Maybe. Can we get  _this_  problem settled, first? He was  _serious_. He said he‘d make me wish I was dead.”

“Bloody drama queen.” He says and you smile. “How badly  _could_ you have hurt him?”

“I wouldn’t  _bite_ him but I  _could_ have permanently disabled  _or_  killed him but I thought you‘d disapprove.”

“Yes. Where did you learn to fight?”

“Mrs. C.’s  _son_  teaches self defence to college students. She knows what I am but she still tries to mother me, says that all 'young' people should be able to defend themselves; so she got  _him_ to give me free lessons and he taught me some illegal moves, too. Said I should only use them as a last resort - life or death stuff.”

“Well, thank you for  _not_  using them. Seeing you fight has given me some ideas, though.”

***

‘ _So **this**  is what being prey feels like.’ _You think, as you stealthily move through the labyrinth of tunnels, wondering how Lucifer talked you into this. ‘ _Oh, who am I kidding?’_ You think,  _‘Since when have I **ever** denied Him?’_

Behind you, a dark shape detaches itself from the shadows and before you even sense a presence, something is looped over your head then down around your neck and tightened. Instinctively, you push your hips back and tilt forward, neatly flipping your assailant. He lands with a grunt.

You try to deal with whatever is around your neck but it’s fastened somehow. It’s tight enough to cut off your blood and certainly too tight to get your fingers behind. You’re still trying to free yourself while your vision darkens and you sink to your knees as the floor comes up to meet you.

Game over.

***

“Twenty minutes, Darling.” Lucifer says, excitedly, when you open your eyes, on the  _big_ bed. “You managed to elude me  _nearly_ as long as a demon. I’m impressed.”

“You said no weapons.” You say, looking down at the, now loosened, belt, still hanging around your neck.

“I didn’t say we couldn’t  _improvise_.”

“How were you holding up your pants? A wing and a prayer?” You ask, dryly.

“Superb tailoring, Darling; the belt’s just  _insurance_.” He says with an amused chuckle.

“And custom made?” You ask, looking down at the ridiculous number of holes, ensuring that it can be fastened tightly on a varied number of body parts, not just around the waist.

“One never knows when a form of restraint will be necessary. In this case, I found the sight of  _you,_ strangling, with my Italian leather around your throat, to be… compelling.” His eyes darken with unconcealed lust.

“I’m surprised you didn’t just take me where I fell.”

“No. Too many mixed messages; I can’t have you associating pleasure with being hunted in the dark. I’m training you for when it might be serious. However, now that we’re back in the bedroom…”

“Ooh, do you wanna play?” You hold out the end of the belt, offering it to Him.

“Mmm,” He affirms, distantly. You look up at Him and He fixes you with His eyes. “Tell me, Darling, what is it that  _you_ truly desire?”

The world fades, you can’t look away and you can’t blink and there’s a rushing sound in your ears and you…

“I want…”

“Yes…” He says, softly, pouring more of His power into your eyes.

“I want… you… to…”

“What do you want me to do?” He whispers, sounding genuinely intrigued. The rushing in your ears is almost all you can hear, now as you finally say:

“I want you to be happy.”

He blinks in surprise and breaks contact with your eyes. You gasp and your body jolts as you feel as though you had dropped off a cliff into freezing cold water. You make a small whimpering sound, hating yourself for that show of weakness.

“Oh, Darling, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…” He’s pulled you into His lap, wound His arms  _and_ His wings around you and is kissing the top of your head. “I didn’t realize you felt  _that_ strongly about me. I’m sorry I invaded your privacy that way.” You feel vulnerable and overwhelmed by His strength, like the adolescent that so many people have mistaken you for.

“Why?” You choke out against His chest.

“I just… you always go along with whatever games I suggest and I wanted to know if there was something that  _you_ wanted and I hadn’t asked since that  _first_ night…”

“I’m… before we met… I was… not a  _virgin_ but inexperienced and what experience I  _had_ had was with people my own age who were still figuring it out, themselves. I don’t  _know_ what I want - sexually - not the way that you want me to  _tell_ you. You saving me was…  _wonderful_ but after our  _first_ time, I was ruined for humans. Oh I had  _sex_ , blood’s easier to take during sex, less likely to be noticed, lots of people bite…”

“So, those years when we only saw each other every ten months…”

“I could only climax alone or with you, I couldn‘t trust myself enough to let go with humans, if I‘d broken our deal... Since we’ve been together more often… it’s been  _so_ good - not only the sex and the blood - just being with you. You make me happy and I want  _you_ to be happy, too.”

“And you enjoy  _all_ the experimental things that I’ve come up with?”

“I’d tell you if I didn’t.”

“Promise me that. Promise if I ever take it too far, you’ll use your safe word.” His eyes are skewering you again and He sounds so serious.

“Of course.” You say, putting the end of the belt into His hand again. “Just as soon as it happens.”

　***

 


	11. Love and Death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter was a bit 'filler-ish', hopefully this one's more interesting. As season 4 draws closer, I feel I should put in some kind of 'reveal' so it's not too far off canon...

 

 

** Now? **

You’re drifting, almost as if you’re on a raft, floating on flat calm water in total darkness.

_Where?_

You try to move but it’s almost as though you no longer have a body… have you  _left_  it again?

_What happened?_

You can’t think, you can’t  _remember_ … Lucifer?

 _Sounds_.

_Random noise?_

_No._

**_Voices_.**

Disjointed and… angry? You try to focus on them as they fade in and out…

Amenadiel‘s voice: “So……at’s it….Chlo.……..just  _leaving_?

Lucifer‘s voice: “Nothing…….or me…….now.”

Amenadiel‘s voice: “…least..….killed………….omination… ……waitin……..Hell.”

Lucifer‘s voice: “….e’s not  _dead_ ………nconsciou…….”

Sound of footsteps coming closer to you.

Amenadiel‘s voice: “ _Not_ …….? ..skull split………..brain .……..floor ….bleeding……eyes……….”

_Huh?_

Lucifer‘s voice: “No….no  _no_ …..”

Amenadiel‘s voice: “….drag it…………balcony……….sun ……………dust.”

_Lucifer?_

Lucifer‘s voice (Furious): “ ** _Get out!_** _”_

***

** Memory? **

...You wake at sunset and find yourself on the bathroom floor in Lucifer’s penthouse. Damn, you  _hate_  it up here. At least you're dressed - after what happened with Amenadiel and the desert, you don’t die naked, anymore - you get up off the floor and go to find Lucifer, an unnatural heat pulsing in your veins.

He's in the main living area, the air thick with the scent of His blood. A quick glance at Him reveals lines of bullet holes across the front of a mostly red shirt that, clearly, used to be white.

“What happened?” You ask.

“Good, you’re up.” His voice sounds strange, deeper and harsher than normal and you drag your eyes up from His blood covered chest and realize that His face is flickering between His usual appearance and His devil face,  _mostly_ His Devil face. He finishes chugging scotch from the bottle in His hand and flings the empty across the room, where it smashes against one of the stone pillars.

“Lucifer?” You take another step towards him. “You got your other face back?”

Pain flashes across His shifting features but then He smiles. It's disconcerting and it touches neither His brown eyes nor His flaming ones. He picks up a stack of papers.

“I’m going back to Hell.  _You_  get Lux and all my other properties and I’ve set up a trust fund for The Detective’s spawn…” A tear runs down His cheek.  “ _You_  manage it for her - do an online accountancy course or something - and make sure she wants for nothing.”

Your world crashes around you. Hell. He’s going back to  _Hell_? You run to Him.

“You can’t,  _please_. Why  _would_  you..? You hate it there.” You're babbling, panicking, you realize. What could have  _happened_? “You’ll come back, won’t you?”

“What for? There’s nothing here for me.”

“In ten months…for… otherwise I’ll…  _Please_ , we have a deal.” You feel so  _selfish_ for bringing it up but…

“You’ll be alright, probably.” He says, offhandedly, as though He  _isn_ _’t_  breaking your heart and threatening your sanity. “And what does it matter if you kill, anyway? I’m sure you’ll pick the most deserving.”

“No.  _Talk_  to me, tell me what’s happened. Or talk to Linda…”

“I’ve made my decision.” He says, firmly.

“I  _won_ _’t_  become that. I’d sooner you  _finished_  it for me,  _now_.” You say, taking His hand, ignoring the burnt texture to it and putting it around your own throat. He instinctively tightens His grip and you hope it means that He agrees. You look up, into His eyes. Red consistently, now, as though some inner conflict has been resolved.

“I can’t kill you  _this_  way.” His voice is dangerously quiet.

“I’m sure there’s one of those Hell-blades around.” Your eyes are locked on His and there’s no trace of weakness in your voice.

“You know where you’ll end up?” He asks, silkily. “And don’t expect  _me_  to get you out of your particular Hell.”

“I won’t.” You shiver at the thought of the mattress and the screaming and  _no_  Lucifer but then, there’s the thought of losing your control, your  _mind,_  to psychosis and you're  _not_  going to back down. “I’m using up any favours you owe me, here and now.” You say, your voice steady.

A look of pure rage crosses His scarred face and then you're flying backwards away from Him. There's an instant of dazzlingly bright agony and then nothing.

***

** Now? **

It’s been quiet for a while - the last thing you heard was Lucifer, shouting at His brother to ‘get out’ - the sensory deprivation is  _so_  complete that you wonder if this  _is_  death. Death but  _not_  Hell. Limbo, maybe? Is that even a thing?

With no warning, there’s a bright light. You can’t react - blink shut eyelids that may as well not exist - the light flashes twice and then is gone. You hear, what sounds like, Lucifer, sighing.

“I’m so sorry.” He says. He sounds it. “I always seem to be apologising to you. All that love and loyalty you  _wasted_  on me and all you asked in return was blood and sex, no cost to  _me_ , at all. I don’t -  _didn_ _’t_  - deserve you.” His voice sounds thick with emotion.

“I never intended to  _kill_  you, if I was thinking clearly at all, just knock you unconscious until after I’d left. I’d have come back to visit, I’d have missed you too much  _not_  to but your head hit the corner edge of the pillar and your skull…” He makes a heartbreaking sobbing sound.

Now that He mentions it, there  _might_  be a slight sensation at the back of where your head should be. The itch of bone knitting?

“I lost my wings today.” He says, brightly, as though discussing the weather.

You hear the unmistakeable sound of a bottle being unscrewed and you hear him swallow.

“We should have known it was a set up.” He continues. “Anonymous tip-off.” He scoffs. “But The Detective and I walked straight into it.” He sounds exasperated. “Like lambs to the slaughter. It’s incredible how much damage one man can do, with an Uzi.”

You remember the blood and bullet holes across His shirt. How did He survive? Did Decker? Is her  _death_  what this is all about?

“We were cornered, I got in front of The Detective - tried to talk to the gunman - but I had to unfurl my wings to make sure  _she_ was protected and the man kept firing and in the end I just  _hit_  him. Caught him across the head with my wing and… well… Dad’s golden rule  _broken_.”

He swallows more alcohol and sighs.

“So, my Devil face came back and The Detective saw that, too. As if the wings weren’t bad enough. I never wanted to see  _that_  look on  _her_  face but there it was. ‘ _It’s all true’_ was all she seemed to be able to say and she looked so…  _broken_  and my wings were bleeding and my chest… so I  _left_. Flew back to my penthouse, healed as I got further away from her. Put my wings away, not realizing that they’d be gone for  _good_ … Fetched  _you_  so I could explain the plan… I knew  _she’d_  never accept anything from me so I’d already set it all up for Beatrice… if only you’d just said  _yes_. But then, why  _should_  you? You were right, we had a deal and I know that it’s important to you -  _was_  important - and it turned out that I couldn’t fly to Hell anymore,  _anyway_.”

 _He_  swallows more alcohol and  _you’re_  starting to feel less disconnected.

“I didn’t  _mean_  what I said, about leaving you to your punishment, in Hell. I hope you realized that. If I still had my wings I’d have gone down and brought you out; it’s not like your body turned to dust or anything, I could have put you back in.  _Are_  you even dead?” He sounds almost excited by  _that_  thought.

“I shone a light in your eyes, earlier. Your pupils are blown and unresponsive but I have no idea what that  _means_ , for you. I didn’t feel your soul cross the threshold but then I can’t feel it even when I know it’s  _here._ Your physiology is  _such_  a puzzle _._  I should have paid more attention when Maze was explaining your kind. To be fair, though, the plan  _was_  to kill you all, so I never thought it mattered but when I looked in  _your_  eyes… under the blood and dirt you were so shiny and new…”

He falls silent for a moment and then you smell fresh blood.

“C’mon, Darling, try again, let me see those pretty fangs.”

Something hot touches your mouth. You don’t remember Him trying this before but He obviously  _has_. This time you feel it distinctly, as it flows down the inside of your lower lip and onto your tongue.

Liquid divinity with a unfeasibly high alcohol content.

You can’t swallow but your insides soak it up like a sponge, making you feel light-headed.

_I’m gonna have **such**  a hangover._

You want to laugh at that thought but you  _still_  can’t move. You feel your fangs start to descend - an involuntary reflex.

“Darling?” Lucifer’s obviously  _seen_  because He jams His wrist against the sharp points and more blood flows.

Your heart trembles in your chest for a few seconds and then beats.

***

 

 


	12. Safe Word - Denied

 

** Memory? **

...On the bed, beside you, He winces as you put your arm around Him and you run your fingers gently over His naked chest.

“How many are still in there?” You ask, your eyes widening as you feel the uneven lumps under His skin.

“All of them, I hope. I wouldn’t have wanted them going all the way through and hitting The Detective.”

“How are  _you_ still alive?” You wonder how close you came to losing Him.

“Pure bloody-mindedness, Darling.”

“Why haven’t they come  _out_? You said you healed as soon as you were away from her.”

“Yes, but with the bullets still  _in_. They were pushed out of my internal organs but, by then, the holes in my skin had healed over… It was different for the wings, one good flap and  _those_  bullets came out as I was flying away from her…” He looks uncertain for an instant. “I hope she was all right on that helipad.”

“You left her on a  _helipad_?“

“I couldn’t leave her in the warehouse, there might have been more gunmen.“ He shrugs, as though a helipad was an obvious choice. Maybe from the air, it  _was_.

“These bullets will have to come out  _too_ , you realize.” You pick up his Hell-blade. He lays flat on His back and looks at you with His unfathomable burning eyes. “Will you need restraining?” You ask.

“No.” He grasps the metal bed-head with both hands. “I won’t let go until you tell me. I promise.”

You nod but still feel hesitant.

“Go ahead, Darling, I owe you some of  _my_  pain. Give me Hell.” He says.

You snort at that and resolve to hurt Him as little as possible. Staying in the same position - next to Him, your head close to His chest - you feel for the most prominent of the lumps. May as well start with the easiest…

You cut into His burnt, scarred skin and, before He bleeds too much, you cover the wound with your mouth and suck, swallowing His blood and wriggling your tongue around until you feel the bullet.

He gives a low moan as you suck the bullet free, then lave the cut with your tongue until it closes. You drop the bullet in through the neck of the empty whiskey bottle that’s on the floor next to the bed.

“Only you could turn  _this_  into a sexual experience.” Lucifer groans, squirming under your touch.

“I’m fairly sure that  _you_  could,  _too_.” You say, lining up the next cut. “And if  _I_  ever get shot again, I’ll expect nothing less.”

“Deal, Daarhh-ling.” He moans, as you go in for the next one.

There are seventeen bullets. By the time the last one is in the bottle, Lucifer is a writhing, tortured mess, practically begging for release. Careful not to drag the silk against His straining erection, you peel off His boxers.

“Pleeease.” He whines, as His shaft springs free.

You grasp the base of it, tight, to delay His orgasm and lean in to lick and suck the head. You’re gentle - you’ve never made love to His devil form before - you keep your fangs well retracted and only lightly graze Him with your blunt, human teeth. You flick the tip of your tongue into His slit, tasting His pre-cum and His tormented wail fills the room.

You take Him all the way in and swallow around Him, making Him jerk His hips. Two more swallows, relishing the desperate sounds He makes as your throat muscles contract and release,  _then_  you relax your fingers.

His hips surge up, thrusting Him deeper into you and He cries out, incoherently, as He pulses scaldingly hot fluid down your throat, then falls back, spent, onto the bed.

You glance up at His face, tears are filling His eyes and His hands are still gripping the bed-head, His shiny knuckles, white, in contrast to the red of His fingers.

“You can let go, now.” You say...

***

** Now? **

...You start to struggle against the manacles when you realize He has a blowtorch and is using it to heat His Hell-blade. The first inch is glowing red, now and the point is white.

“Lucifer,  _please_ , whatever you’re thinking of doing,  _don_ _’t_.” You try to sound reasonable and calm but you can feel the panic building.

“I’ll make it as painless as possible but I’m afraid I  _have_  to do this. I have to be  _sure_.” He switches off the blowtorch, sets it down on the table then moves to the bottom of the bed and takes your right foot in His left hand.

“ _Please_ , Lucifer.  _Why_  are you doing this?” You try to move your foot but the ankle restraints make that impossible.

He’s sitting with His back to you, separating your smallest toe from the others.

“It’s a test, Darling, to make sure that you’re really  _you_.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” You ask, hoping to keep him talking,  _distracted_.

“Because the sun came up thirty-seven minutes ago and  _you_ _’re_  still alive.” His voice sounds odd.

 _Oh._ You want time to think about this new development but you can feel the heat of the knife getting closer to your skin. You do the only thing you can think of.

“Red, Lucifer.” Surely He’ll respect your use of the safe word that  _He_  gave you. “Please, red, red,  _red_ …”

“Hush, Darling, shhh… it’ll soon be over.” He sounds so soothing, caring and reassuring…

You’re hyperventilating, now and there’s a horrid popping sensation as He dislocates your toe, followed by searing heat as the blade goes between the bones, the smell of burning skin, the sizzle of your flesh and… an agony of betrayal...

***

...There’s a tiny smear of blood on the ceiling and you stare at it, trying to figure out how it got there. ‘ _I_ _’ll just keep looking at **that**  and I won’t interact with ‘him’ at all.’ _You think.

Your mutilated foot is throbbing and Lucifer is crying, because, of course, this is all about  _his_ pain.

“I’m so sorry.” He’s looking at the dust in his hand that  _used_ to be the little toe on your right foot. “Maze once told me, with all the mirror and ‘holy’ object stuff being mythical, that  _this_ was an infallible test for vampirism - cut off a part and it turns to dust - I really thought that I was in one of the rooms in Hell and you were just…”

“Because, of course,  _your_  Hell  _would_  be a room with a sexually adventurous bed mate who loves you unconditionally.” You say, sarcastically.

“Do you?” He asks, a hint of wonder in his voice.

“No. I love Lucifer Morningstar but He killed me when I asked Him to and now I’m in Hell. I always thought that  _my_  Hell would be the night I was turned but this is  _so_  much worse.”  _Not_  interacting with phoney Lucifer was proving to be difficult.

“I thought maybe I died when I was shot and ended up here but I was so wrong. This is real.” He says. There's an edge to his voice that you've never heard from the real Him.

“No. You ignored the safe word, the  _real_  Lucifer would never do that. He would  _never_  take my choice away.”

“I suppose  _you_  think I should have asked nicely if I could cut off a body part?” You realize, with no surprise at all, that the edge in his voice is  _deception_. Unfamiliar because, of course,  _Lucifer_  doesn’t lie.

“I would probably have surprised Him and said yes. Is there any chance of losing these restraints, now? Or, you could always get on with the torture but I’ll warn you that you won’t get the reaction you want.” You go back to contemplating the ceiling.

He runs his hand up your leg, his warm skin smooth and unscarred - back to his ‘human’ form. You don’t risk looking at him.

“Mmm, choices, choices…” All pretence is gone now. You can hear the smirk in his voice, picture how he looks, in your mind. “Torture, I think. It wouldn’t do to  _waste_  all this eager, naked vulnerability, would it? If you’ll just wait here and I’ll be  _right_  back.” He chuckles at his little joke - a chilling, evil sound that you would never expect from  _Him_ \- making it easier for you to believe that it’s  _not_ real. You try to put yourself in the ‘dead’ headspace. If you’re dead no one can hurt you; if you breathe out all the air from your lungs, no one will have the satisfaction of hearing you scream…

You stare blankly at the ceiling, not breathing, not reacting, even when you hear the chainsaw start up. Not even hearing Jezz’s laughter close to your ear makes you move… not even when the cruel metal teeth start to tear your skin…

You just gaze up at the blood on the ceiling; there’s so much  _more_  of it there now…

***

 

 


	13. Unforgivable Acts?

 

** Memory? **

...You're walking into Lux, just like the  _first_  time, your thirst a raging beast that's burst its cage and the people on the dance floor are dropping to their knees as you pass, offering throats and wrists, tearing at themselves with broken glass and the blood is pouring and you're drinking and the music falls silent and all you can hear is the sound of  _you,_  gulping their lives...

"He'll kill you for sure, now." His demon says, twirling her knife and smirking and you hear feral growling and realize that it's coming from  _your_  throat and the world shrinks to just the blood and nothing else matters...

Thick, scarlet liquid, ankle deep on the floor, now and you want to roll in it, swim in it, cover every inch of your skin, so that when He kills you, whatever slow, torturous method He decides to use, you  _will_  deserve it.

Lux is the main course but you will  _never_  forget the starter; His miracle tasted the same as any other human...

***

** Now? **

There's no blood on the ceiling, not even the tiny smear that was there before this started. The chainsaw is quiet.

Switched off?

You're trembling, freezing cold and you've been dressed in soft PJs and put under the bed covers. Almost like someone cares.

Your head hurts and your ribs feel as though they've been smashed and then put back together. Residual pain, that's  _new_.

You remember staring at a blood spattered ceiling, disassociating yourself from what was being done to your body;  _knowing_ , with absolute certainty that it wasn’t real.

You hadn't felt that you deserved it  _then_.

_How_  could you have believed that? Your crimes were unforgivable.

"Why have you stopped?" You ask your torturer, a slight tremor in your voice, from the shivering. You hope he's come up with something  _worse_  that you can endure.

He looks at you with a strange, unreadable expression on his face.

"Torture loses its effectiveness, if it's constant. Remind me what you did, to justify this." He sits down on the bed, beside you and takes your hand in his; strokes it, gently.

You understand. These moments of gentleness will make the hurting worse, when he gets back to it. You look forward to that.

You sit up - he unlocked the restraints hours (or was it days?) ago, when you made it clear that you had no desire to escape - you lean against the bed-head.

"The people I killed." You say, not looking at him, your shame almost too much to bear.

"You told me that you felt  _no_  guilt for Jezz's father and Cain." He says.

"I don't, they both deserved it. I meant the  _others_. All those people at Lux and..." Your voice catches and tails off.

"...And?"

" _His_ detective and her child." You manage to keep your voice calm.

"Tell me what you did to  _them_." He's calm, too.

"You -  _He_  - was worried about her - after she saw His wings and His other form - I offered to go to her apartment. Not to knock on her door or anything, just to look through the window, see if she was there. If she was alright."

"Why couldn't  _I_  go?"

"He couldn't make His other face go away, consistently and He was worried that she would be scared of Him, now, in any case."

"Then what happened?"

"The third window I tried was her daughter's room, they were both in there. His detective looked as though she had been crying but she was reading aloud to the child. They were snuggled together under the covers, I think she was planning on sleeping there all night."

"And then?"

"I killed them both." You could see, in your mind, the huge volume of blood, spraying around the room.

"How? Talk me through it, you were outside the window..."

"I... used my teeth."

"To get through the window?" He sounds almost amused, the  _real_  Lucifer could  _never_  talk about the death of loved ones, that way.

"To kill them."

"Which one died first?"

"I... the detective. The child was thralled... She knew nothing about it."

"How did you get into the apartment?"

"I…” The memory skitters around in your head; gushing blood and screaming… “Does it matter? I  _killed_  them, He loved them and I took them from Him and now  _you_  have to punish me."

“You saved The Detective’s life recently. Why do  _that_ if you wanted her dead?”

“I didn’t  _want_ her dead but I‘m... I was… I  _needed_ … I‘d lost control…”

"You knew you were in Hell, before, didn't you?" He interrupts.

"Yes. I thought I didn't deserve to be there, to start with but then I..."

"Remembered?"

You nod.

"Doing terrible, unforgivable things?"

"Yes. Could you start hurting me again, please?" You can't bear these questions, you miss the pain,  _need_  the pain. You feel restless and fidgety without the pain. “ _Please_.”

"Hell isn't really set up for people who know how it works. The lucid ones need something extra. Call it justification, if you will. Fake memories of atrocities committed."

"Fake?" You can still taste the blood,  _smell_  it, nothing fake about it.

"Do you remember how  _you_ died?" The change of subject is unexpected.

"Lucifer killed me." You say with certainty.

"Why would he do that?"

“After what  _I_ did?”

“I want to hear details.”

"I remember… begging Him to.” You say, trying to make sense of your memories. “I remember He was going to leave me, go back to Hell - is He down here somewhere,  _now_?” Were you imagining a fleeting memory of there being  _two_  of him, one standing passive and still, his chainsaw dripping blood and chunks of flesh, the other roaring with fury, His devil face twisted with incandescent rage… “He was going to leave me with the thirst and the insanity, He said I could  _choose_  who I killed... I must have chosen… Is  _that_ why I did it?" You look at your torturer, it hurts that he’s wearing the face of the being that you love more than life but it’s also  _fitting_. "I realized then that He didn't understand, so I begged Him, told Him I was calling in my favours and He smashed my head against a stone pillar."

"And that killed you?"

“I… I’m not sure, there might have been something else…  _after_ … bright…. sunlight… fire… maybe… I don‘t remember.“

“Harsh. Not the death you would have  _chosen_ , I imagine.”

“Not from Him, no.” Your torturer is perceptive. “But I made Him angry and…“ You shrug. “Dealer’s choice.” Do you see a tiny flinch in his face at your words? No, you must be mistaken.

"And when did you lay waste to Lux and kill The Detective and her spawn?" He continues.

"It was... after... after I got the bullets out of Him." You say, trying to put the chain of events into a sequence that makes sense. "The detective and her child, first;  _then_  Lux."

"Why?"

"Hunger, I was just so  _thirsty_."

" _Really_? Are you sure it wasn’t personal? Did you kill them so you’d have me to yourself?“

“I would  _never_ … hurt Him… like that…. if I did  _that_ to Him He would…“

“So, it was just  _thirst_ , I’m meant to  _believe_ that? You’ve rarely had human blood since you were shot and moved into the tunnels under Lux. You weren't meant to  _need_  to while you were drinking mine..."

"I...  _His_  blood... not  _yours_... You’re not Him…  _His_.... please.... stop this talking...  _PUNISH ME!"_ You look wildly around the room for a weapon, something you can hurt yourself with.

His Hell-blade.

You snatch it from the table by the bed and bring it to your chest - if you could drive it into your heart... He reacts instantly, grabbing your wrist and squeezing it until something gives and the knife drops. You're screaming - anger, outrage, anguish - all rational thought is gone, as you attack him with teeth and fists, your broken wrist giving you some of the pain you crave.

"None of it was  _real_." He shouts, trying to get you under control. "I got you  _out_  of Hell, you're back here on  _Earth_. You didn't do anything  _wrong_."

You struggle as He rolls on top of you, trying desperately to pin you down - He's heavier than you but you are stronger than the humans that He’s used to - and you lash out frantically, mindlessly.

Finally it's over, He has you, His legs pinning yours, both your wrists (sweet pain) trapped in one of His hands. He uses His other hand to grip your chin and turn your face to His. Your eyes are tight shut, now, you can't -  _won't_  - look at Him.

_**‘Finish**  it, my Love, my Lord, my Master.  **Please**.’ _ You want to say, to  _beg_  but you can’t form coherent words anymore.

"Paz!" He says, sharply,  _commandingly_. "Look at me." There's none of the usual softness  _and,_  shockingly, He's called you by  _Jezz's_  name for you. You have no choice; you obey.

His eyes are all that you can see. Usually dark brown,  _now_  as black as the voids of space, they fill your vision.

"Be at peace." He says. His voice is tinged with reluctance,  _regret_  and so quiet that you barely hear but it still carries the weight and power of a universe. You manage a pathetic whimper before your free will is swept away into the maelstrom and all that you are, is stilled. Heat rolls over your body, the weight of it making your limbs heavy and impossible to move.

You have no option but to relax, to  _trust_. Is  _this_  how it feels for your thralled prey? To be  _forced_ to helplessly offer up their lives, not knowing if it’s the last thing they’ll ever do… You watch a tiny bright flame burn in the depths of the blackness. Two eyes but only one flame - red, flickering - even though you can quite clearly see that  _both_  eyes have a flame. It fascinates you with the impossibility of it, as it gets bigger and brighter and whiter and hotter. There's another pain, now, in the centre of your forehead but you can't blink or move and it's like He's pushing light down through your skull and you can feel it, as though it has substance -  _mass_  even - and it's  _burning_  in you, boiling your blood. Hot, white light like a tiny, exploding star in your brain.

When the star winks out, you do too.

***


	14. Absolution

 

** Sunset **

You open your eyes to warmth and comfort and blood on your tongue. You feel loved or, at least cared for, how can you  _not_ , with His very warm, naked body spooning yours, one arm tight around your waist, His legs tangled together with yours, His wings cocooning you. You can feel His hot blood inside you as you cling to the warm arm that’s holding you and swallow more, from the wrist that’s in your mouth. He makes that wonderful little sound in His throat that evokes all the sex you’ve ever had with Him.

For you to wake up  _this_  way, either  _He's_  had a bad day and needs comfort or  _you_  had a seriously bad night.

“Hello, are you back with me?” He asks, quietly.

“Yeah, I think so.” You say, releasing His wrist, so you can talk. You wait for Him to confirm your suspicions.

"How are you feeling?"

 _'Ah_ ,' You think _, ' **I**  had a bad night_.'

"Fantastic." You say, truthfully; stretching your body - all languid and warm - and feeling Him harden, reflexively, against your bare ass.

“Not in any pain?”

“None at all. What happened?”

“How much do you remember?”

“About  _what_? It can‘t be  _that_ bad, I feel  _good_.” You turn around in His arms, so you can look at Him.

“What’s the last thing you  _do_  remember?”

You think for a bit and then give Him an account of the previous night; the incredible sex you had with Him, when you’d gotten back from your full moon visit to Mrs. C. for her monthly bloodletting.

“That’s good,” He says, “You only lost the one night.”

“ _Lost_  a night? What happened?” He doesn’t answer right away and you add, exasperatedly: “ _Tell_  me. How bad can be, it’s not like I  _died_.”

He doesn’t meet your eyes.

“Lucifer, I  _died_?” You whisper, shocked. “ _Properly_  died?”

“I had to fetch you back from Hell.”

“Was it… Amenadiel…?”

“One of Cain’s people, I think.” He says, shaking His head slightly.

“How…?”

“Wooden stake through the heart.”

“Classic.” You say, trying to be flippant and not really pulling it off. “Did I turn to dust?”

“No, you…” He pulls you in closer and you rest your head on His shoulder. “It’s probably best that I tell it from the start.”

“Okay.”

“It starts with The Detective and I following an anonymous tip-off and getting cornered in a warehouse by a man with an Uzi.”

You want to react, shock, or something but you know that this has already happened and if His detective was dead He wouldn’t be  _here_  with you.

He explains how He got His devil face back and flew home to Lux and what happened after  _you_  woke up and confronted Him in the penthouse, about His plans to return to Hell.

“It was an unbelievably selfish knee-jerk reaction on my part and of  _course_ you reacted badly. I was, understandably, already angry, when I hurt you but that doesn’t excuse my behaviour. The worst part was… I didn’t even realize what I’d  _done_. I left you, bleeding on my floor, while I drank my bar dry. It took Amenadiel turning up and congratulating me on finally seeing sense and  _killing_ you…” His breathing hitches and all His limbs wind tighter around you. “I really didn’t mean to  _harm_  you but, thankfully, the shock of it woke me up to myself. I couldn’t make my wings come back, so no healing feathers but pouring my blood into your skull fracture, seemed to help and I fed you until you recovered; although, it took a long enough time - thinking you were gone - for me to be  _very_  concerned and incredibly repentant.”

“Whatever  _happened_ , it’s been  _over_  for hours. It’s not like I’d ever  _judge_  you.”

“No, you  _wouldn’t_. You were quite lovely about it, you even got the bullets out of me…” His erection twitches.

“Did I suck them out?” You ask.

“Do you  _remember_  that?”

“No. I read it in a Charlaine Harris book; I always thought I’d try it if  _you_  ever needed a bullet removing. Was it good?”

“It was  _well_  worth getting shot for  _and_  you followed it up with one of your spectacular blow jobs. While I was  _still_  in my devil form;  _that_  really went a long way towards restoring my sense of self. You didn’t look at me any differently and you treated me so  _gently_ , as though I was  _hurt_ , not a monster at all.”

“That’s because you’re  _not_  a monster.” You snuggle closer.

“We talked - Amenadiel’s belief theory came up, turns out, he was right -  _you_  convinced me that I wasn’t a monster, that Dad doesn’t care enough to punish me, for killing one murderous human, if he didn’t care enough to punish me for Uriel. I managed a semblance of control.”

“Don’t tell Amenadiel he was  _right_ , he’ll be insufferable.”

“More insufferable,  _surely_?”

“Yeah, I meant  _that_.” You smile against His skin. “What happened with your detective?”

“I flew her out of the warehouse and left her on a helipad, she struggled the whole way.” He sighed. “I  _had_ to leave her, I was bleeding, I couldn’t heal until I got out of range. After I changed my mind about… Hell, I didn’t want to call  _her_ , in case she was… afraid; I wanted to give her space and she hadn’t called  _me,_  so  _you_  said you’d go and see if she made it home all right. In hindsight, I could have called her on one of your burner phones and then hung up when she answered but, I didn’t think of  _that_ until later, so we went with  _your_  plan. You wanted to avoid the club crowds, so you went out through the tunnels and the  _other_  building and you must have been seen locking the service door because when you got back, you were attacked as you  _un_ locked it.”

“Someone just  _came_  at me with a wooden stake?”

“Of  _course_  not, he wouldn’t have stood a chance. You were on your phone, telling me about The Detective - distracted - and he knocked you unconscious, dragged you into the basement and staked you. I  _heard_  the whole thing, raced down the tunnel - in my underwear and my devil form, so angry and determined to fight that my wings returned - and I got there just in time to scare him half to death. He’d been pouring lighter fuel on you but, thankfully, he ran off, screaming.”

“He’d been planning to  _burn_  me?”

“You were dead, by then; I’d never seen you look so corpse-like, I‘ll never mistake it again.” He shivered, remembering. “He’d used a mallet to hammer the stake in; I think that’s what he hit your head with, too. Your skull got fractured  _twice_  in one night plus broken ribs and your  _heart_ …” His voice catches and you press a kiss to His warm chest. “The stake had pushed the fabric of your clothing into it, all the way through; taking it out was…” He swallows, hard, remembering. “I really thought that you were gone for good…”

“Whatever you had to do…”

“I poured my blood into the cavity, once I’d got the bits of cloth out but nothing happened. In the end I flew down to Hell to find you.”

“How long was I down there?”

“No more than half an hour, up here but time runs differently in Hell and…”

“I was reliving the night I was turned.”

“No.  _I_  don’t think that you carry enough  _guilt_  to send your soul to Hell. I think that it’s the demon fragment that took you there, by default. You  _were_  being tortured - in a facsimile of this room - but I got the impression that it hadn’t gone the way your torturer wanted because the system had to make you imagine you’d done things that you  _hadn’t_.”

“Like what?”

“You believed that you’d killed and fed on patrons in Lux - hundreds of them - thralling them into cutting themselves for you.”

“That  _would_  make me want to be punished.” You sense that He’s leaving something out, something  _worse_ but you trust Him enough not to call Him on it.

“You were catatonic, when I found you, not interacting at all, just…  _taking it_. Your Hell-loop had  _me_  torturing you, so, when I got you back here and your body was healed…”

“That worked, once my soul was back?”

“Yes, but  _you_  still thought that you were in Hell and that I…”

“Was the one torturing me? I’m  _so_  sorry, did I treat you as though as I was scared of you?”

“Worse than  _that_ , you  _wanted_ the torture, tried to  _kill_  yourself. You still believed that you’d done things that you needed to be  _punished_  for. I tried talking to you, making you see that it hadn’t been real but the closer I came to convincing you, the more your mind defended what it believed was true. You were irrational, violent, screaming and your eyes were…” He shivers, remembering. “Like a trapped animal, just before it gnaws off a body part to free itself. I ended up overpowering you, physically and  _then_  taking your free will.” You can feel His hot tears dripping onto your face as He admits what He’s done.

“Tell me exactly what you did.”

“I  _commanded_  you - used the power in my voice and eyes to  _force_  you to stop fighting and relax - then I pushed a feather into your head and used it to take your memories.”

You kiss your way up to His mouth, your eyes never leaving His.

“I think,” You say, gently, “That it sounds as though  _that_  was the best thing you could have done, in the circumstances.”

“You didn’t  _consent_ , though.”

“I don’t suppose I used my safe word, either.” You have a sudden flash of begging Him  _with_  your safe word while He hurts you, unchecked but the memory slides away from you as you try to focus on it; insubstantial, like the way a dream sometimes vanished when you tried to remember it, back when you could still dream - still sleep.

“Well,  _no_  but…”

“But, nothing. I trust you, Lucifer; you don’t lie and if, in your judgement, it was the only way…”

“I offered it to Charlotte, to take  _her_  memories of Hell; she turned me down.”

“I presume she  _wasn’t_  raving and suicidal.”

“No and she, quite rightly, said that  _without_  the memories of it, she would just carry on the way she had  _before_  and end up there again, when she died. She doesn’t want to do that. She wants redemption.”

“But there can be no redemption for me.”

“It seems not. All  _I_  can do, is promise that I will always find you and get you out.”

“Hopefully, it won’t happen again. Weren‘t the Feds meant to be taking care of Cain‘s people?”

“They’ve been dealing with it, yes. Cain left detailed files on  _everything_  - hard copy, so it’s taking a while - priority, of course, is to take down the ones who are actually  _in_  the FBI; followed by the corrupt police…” He sighs, His hands absently tracing the outline of your back, all the way down… “No one knows who to trust and The Sinnerman Network is  _global_. We could be looking at years.”

“And meanwhile, what? We’re all on a  _list_?”

“He seemed to have had a particular grudge against  _you_.”

“Because I didn’t manage to kill him? The first time, I mean.”

“I imagine so, yes. It’s a pity you were too passed out in the bathroom to see what happened. He was totally drained - so pale, blue lips, cold,  _dead_  - it took about thirty minutes for him to… fill up again. He was furious - more so than any of the times  _I’d_  failed to kill him - I think because you made him  _helpless_ , first.”

“Pity, that was the bit I enjoyed.” You hold Him closer and realize that your bodies have fitted together, as though recognizing, instinctively, that He  _belongs_ inside you.

“I can’t lose you, I know that now.” He says, His wings pressing your back as He slides deeper into you. “When I thought  _I’d_ killed you… not even  _deliberately_ , not in a  _fun_ way… just a moment of meaningless  _rage_ … and when I found you in Hell being tortured…” His wings shiver around you.

“Shh, I’m happy to be damned. It means I’ll never go where you can’t find me.” You say, firmly.

“I promise I’ll  _always_ find you.”

You gasp, as His form ripples into red scar-tissue at the same time as His fingers tighten on your hips - a bruising grip, if you were still human - and He covers your mouth with His. His blood splashes onto your tongue as He slices His across your fangs, you swallow and climax simultaneously.

Breaking the kiss, He pulls out and turns you around in His arms, until, deep inside you again, He has you facing forwards, your back against His warm chest. He sits up and lowers His wings so you can see the two of you reflected in the wall mirror across from the bed. You look into the Hell-fire that burns in His eyes.

“Answer truly. Are you mine?” He says, gazing at your reflections and you realize that the formality of this is  _important_.

“Yes.” You say, without hesitation.

“To nurture or destroy?”

“Yes.”

“Do you trust me?”

“Always.”

“Do you fear me?”

“Never.”

His eyes fixed on yours, you watch, in the mirror as He picks up the Hell-forged blade and very slowly, so you can’t miss or mistake what will happen, He presses the tip to the point where your neck meets your shoulder. You relax into Him, an unspoken consent.

Blood beads around the blade and pools in the hollow of your collar bone. He sets the knife aside and leans in to flick His forked ‘devil’ tongue across your skin, His eyes never leaving yours. He covers the wound with His mouth, sucking  _hard_. You climax again, with an almost animal moan and, this time, He joins you.

“What did we just do?” You ask Him, as He lights a joint, inhales deeply and hands it to you.

“An entry level blood pledge, one that leaves you in control of yourself. It means I’ll be able to find you much faster - your body  _and_  your soul - if anything happens to you, again.” He kisses the tiny knife scar on your neck - closed by the time your orgasms were finished - and you convulse against him, your body remembering the ecstasy. “I can actually  _feel_ your soul, now. I never could before, even when you were awake.”

“Like I didn’t have one?”

“That’s how it  _felt_ but I knew, intellectually, that you  _did_. It‘s good to be able to sense it, though.”

“Who  _else_ is pledged to you?”

“All the demons in Hell shed their blood and pledged loyalty and, before you ask, sex isn’t a  _requirement_. I tasted  _your_ blood to be more aware of you, it’s not something I usually do.“ He gazes intently at you. “No one  _ever_ answered the forth question the way  _you_ did. The usual response is ‘yes’.”

“What about the third?”

“Ah. The third question is usually ‘Will you serve me faithfully unto death?’ but it didn’t seem appropriate for you.”

“I’d do  _that_ anyway.”

“Quite. Such loyalty isn’t normally  _freely_ given. That makes you a rare and valuable asset, one who will  _not_ be punished in Hell, again, without  _my_ express permission.”

***

 

 


	15. Undercover (But Not Under Much) Pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set during the month that Chloe was away after the reveal (my version!).
> 
> Warnings for implied child abuse.

 

Part One

 

“How do you feel about going undercover with me, Darling?” He asks, handing you what looks like a white silk sheet.

“What as, Casper the friendly ghost?” You ask, holding up the sheet. It’s long and narrow with a vertical slit. You fold it in half and look at it some more. You suppose that your head goes through the slit and the fabric drapes down, like a tunic only… there’s no seams.

“As an underage sex slave.” Lucifer says, grimly.

You swallow the impulse to ask if He’s joking because you know He wouldn’t. Not about  _that_.

“Is this the whole thing?” You ask, stripping to your skin and putting it on. It hangs halfway to your knees and would cover everything important, were it not for the completely open sides.

“There’s a belt.” He hands you a length of thick silk cord.

“That makes  _all_ the difference.” You say, sarcastically, carefully overlapping both sides of the garment and tying the belt to - hopefully - keep it all in place. At least now you can walk around without flashing… everything.

“And this.” He hands you, what you take to be, a collar. It’s made of a white metal, around three quarters of an inch wide with a large, rectangular, black stone, to the front. It’s hinged at the sides but seems to have no form of fastening at the back, where the two, rounded ends overlap, slightly. One side is engraved.

Morningstar.

It’s beautiful as well as creepy.

Is it wrong that you love it?

You put it on, looking at the reflection in the mirror, the stone matches the one in His ring, you realize. It definitely makes you look  _owned_.

“How does it fasten?” You ask, as He comes up behind you.

In answer, He softly kisses the nape of your neck before deftly closing the ends, running His fingers down the hinges and then stepping back. It’s now a rigid circle laying loose on your collar bone.

“Only I can open it. With these.” He wiggles His fingers at you, smirking. “It should keep you safe from the…  _attentions_  of others.”

“Okay. It’s heavy, is it solid silver?” You ask, still looking at it in the mirror.

“Of course not,” He scoffs. “It’s platinum.”

“Nothing but the best for  _your_ sex slave, huh?” You say, to cover your shock. “Is this about those emails you got?”

“Yes. These people seem convinced that I should be a member of their  _club_ …” He says the word as though it’s a filthy concept. “..and they’re sending a representative here, tonight. They want to meet  _you_.”

Here. You were wondering why you ‘woke up’ in one of His more  _private_ residences.

“Tonight? Thanks for the heads up.”

“I knew nothing about it until a courier showed up at my penthouse, with your… outfit, twenty minutes before sunset.”

“They assume I live  _here_?”

“I might have let something 'slip' in an email; after all, I’d hardly keep something as ‘illegal’ as  _you_ , in a place as public as my penthouse at Lux.”

“What time should we expect them?”

“ _That_ was annoyingly vague. Your ‘outfit’ was delivered to Lux, so they’ll probably wait until they see me drive out of there. I flew  _you_ here,  _they_ think I’m still at the penthouse.” He said, when you raised an eyebrow.

“They send the collar, too?”

“No. I had that made, when they  _first_ got in touch, I had a feeling it would come to this and I knew that you would want…”

“Oh, I’m in. When I used to play runaway, I always regretted that I couldn’t do a proper take down - the ones higher up the chain of command. The dying at dawn thing tended to get in the way.”

“No need to worry. They have weekend events but, if we get invited to one of those, I’ll be there to make sure you’re safe, during the day.” He spreads His wings. “Make yourself at home. It’ll take me about an hour to drive back here, don’t open the door to anyone.”

“Maybe Amenadiel’s little ‘joke’ will actually end up doing good.” You say.

You both assume that it was the photographs that got someone’s attention. They had, after all, been through the police departments of two states, thanks to Amenadiel. In the pictures, you looked very submissive, totally sexualized and indecently young.

Someone had gotten quite the wrong idea.

***

They must have been watching Lucifer because the man shows up five minutes after He does.

True to Lucifer’s preferred style, the main living area has no doors, so you find it easy to lurk, unseen and, to listen. After hearing Lucifer being checked for recording devices - bleeping sounds and the  _shocking_ discovery of a flask of scotch and a switched off phone - you hear them sit.

“Call me Craig.” The man says, sounding civilized. The next thing out of his mouth ruins that. “I’m looking forward to meeting your little… tell me, what do you have? A Toy or a Pet?”

Lucifer makes a questioning sound.

“Never thought of it in those terms?” Craig asks, sounding very superior.  _You_ already want to hit him; you imagine that Lucifer is finding it  _very_ hard not to react. “Toys are,  _obviously_ , entirely disposable - no emotional connection at all. Pets, on the other hand - well, a man can be forgiven for forming an attachment to his  _pets_.” He sounds patronisingly indulgent, now. “Of course what you must  _never_ do, is start thinking of them as,” He lowers his voice to the barest whisper, “ _People_.” If you were still human, you wouldn’t have heard this last word. “Always refer to them as ‘It’. You understand, of course.”

“Yes.” Lucifer says.  _You_ can hear His contained anger but you doubt that Call-me-Craig, can. “By  _your_ criteria, I have a pet.” He raises His voice, slightly. “You can join us, now, Darling.”

You walk into the room, genuinely nervous; you  _really_ don’t want to screw this up. You keep your eyes lowered.

“Is it well trained?” Craig asks.

“Knees.” Lucifer says, in a neutral tone, not looking at you.

Your knees hit the floor instantly; you’ve practiced this, in front of the mirror and it looks natural, as if you’ve been doing it for years. From where you are, with your eyes down, you can only see Craig’s lower legs and shoes. His pants are a cheaper fabric than Lucifer’s and his shoes are boring, you note, with satisfaction.

“Can I see it naked?”

“Strip.” Lucifer says, His voice sounding harder; you can tell that He’s  _hating_ this. You, on the other hand, are looking forward to watching Craig get what’s coming to him, sometime in the future.

You undo the belt and shrug off the woefully inadequate ‘garment‘.

“Such  _skin_ ; so pale, so smooth. Unscarred. How have you resisted leaving your mark?”

Lucifer shrugs, not dignifying the question with an answer.

It makes you unreasonably happy that the tiny knife scar that He left when you pledged to Him, is safely hidden under the collar. You feel that if this  _vile_ human were to see  _that,_ then you would be  _truly_ naked. Odd; you didn’t realize, until now, that you felt that way.

“I’ll ask it some questions, if I may. Is it truthful?”

“Of course.” Lucifer says. “I abhor lies.”

“Look at me.” Craig directs this order to you.

You’ve been waiting for this moment, to  _really_ shine in your chosen role. You put yourself into the ‘innocence’ head space, the one that has been the undoing of so many  _other_ men of his kind and you reinforce it with a smidge of your thirst.

You look up, into his eyes.

“Oh.” He almost has wonder in his voice. “Impressive.” He turns to Lucifer. “How have you managed to retain its innocence? It looks… untouched.”

“I can assure you that that is  _not_ the case.” Lucifer says. He’s looking at you as though He’s never seen you before. You’re certain that there will be an extensive conversation,  _after_ Craig has left. At the very least, one of Lucifer’s rants about ‘soul-less gingers’ and ‘evil people with ordinary names‘.

“When did you two meet?”

“2012.” You and Lucifer answer together.

“ _You_ answer.” Craig says, turning back to you.

“2012.” You say. “He saved me from a  _very_ bad situation.”

“And took you into his bed, as payment?”

“Not at all. He made me wait for a full year. Three hundred and sixty-five nights of  _wanting_ Him.” You hope that you’ve managed to convey the yearning that you had felt, for Him. From the look in Craig‘s eyes and the bulge in his pants, you feel that you‘ve been successful. “When I was, at last, allowed into His bed, I had to beg for what I wanted.”

“And how old were you, that  _first_ time with him?”

“I’ll let  _you_ do the math.” You let some of the contempt you feel for him, into your voice.

Him striking you across the face, is a reflex, on his part but, to his surprise, he doesn’t connect. Lucifer has blocked the blow with His hand and Craig gasps as though he has tried to backhand a brick wall.

“You do not touch what is  _mine_.” Lucifer says, in a voice that, were he  _there_ , might freeze Hell over. He glances down at you. “Cover yourself.” He makes it sound like an order and you are more than happy to obey.

“I meant no disrespect.” Craig said, rubbing his hand.

“I find  _that_ hard to believe.” Lucifer says, standing. “You can leave, now.”

“That’s not the plan.” He sounds nervous and wrong footed, now. “I’m meant to be driving you to our weekend retreat.”

“Not interested.” Lucifer says, flatly.

“But… it’s one of the most important of the year. We thought, in light of the er.. age of your pet, that you’d want to come.”

“Age?”

“Well  _yes_. Obviously hormonal, pubescent; really too old for a man of  _taste_ …”

“And how would this weekend help with that?” Lucifer was making no attempt to hide His mounting anger.

“There’s an auction, of course. Fresh blood. Fresh,  _young_ blood. A chance to replace…”

Lucifer growls and Craig’s voice dries up.

“Some things can  _never_ be replaced.” He says and you feel a warm glow inside at His words.

“Enhanced by the introduction of another, then. We know that your tastes are... omnivorous.” Craig is truly grovelling, now.

“Pack my weekend bag.” Lucifer says, turning to you as though you do this sort of thing for Him, all the time.

“Erm… luggage isn’t permitted. Security; I’m sure you understand.” Craig was sounding more confident, now that Lucifer had implied that the two of you are going to this event. “We’ve already been in touch with your tailor - everything that you need will be in your suite.”

“West facing.” Lucifer says, firmly; sounding every inch the spoiled billionaire.

“Of course, if that’s what you want. I’ll call ahead.”

“Drapes.” You murmur, so quietly that you doubt that Craig will have made out the word.

“Of course, Darling. Blackout drapes, for my companion.”

“Oh, naturally. That skin should never feel the sun on it.”

After Craig makes a big show of checking your coat and shoes, you’re allowed to put them on for the brief walk to where his car is parked.

The limo has blacked out windows and a driver. You end up sitting on a rear facing seat with Lucifer and the repellent Craig, sitting opposite. You’re glad of the coat, you feel vulnerable without underwear.

Your mind drifts, as the car smoothly heads to its unknown destination. You can’t see out of the windows, there’s no way of knowing where you are but you know that Lucifer will protect you.

You wonder about the auction. You’re assuming that the children will have been chosen from runaways and abductees, maybe some will have been sold by their own parents - drug addicts did that sort of thing, you knew - presumably only the best looking made it to these events.

You wonder where you will be spending the day.

***


	16. Undercover (But Not Under Much) Pt. 2

 

Part Two

 

The building looks like it had once been a hotel - maybe still is - set amidst rolling countryside. You have no idea where, you can’t see city lights on any of the horizons; so it’s isolated.

The suite isn’t up to what  _you_ have come to know as ‘Lucifer standard’ but it  _is_ only for the weekend  _and_ for a good cause.

You wander around, looking at the closet full of clothes, mostly for  _Him_ , although there are a few extra ‘sheets’ for you. This closet is where  _you_ will probably be spending the day. Lucifer, true to His role of entitled billionaire, dials the phone by the bed, for room service.

“Hello, this is Lucifer Morningstar, I’m sure you know which room I’m in.” He purrs, sounding  _so_ reasonable. “I would like three bottles of your finest scotch sent up and then my companion and I would like some privacy. So I’ll be needing someone to come and remove  _all_ of the electronic surveillance devices. Quick as you can.”

Amazingly, someone turns up within five minutes, bearing scotch and leaves twenty minutes later with a bunch of tiny cameras. The low level buzz - inaudible to humans - departs with him. When you’re sure he’s out of earshot, you turn to Lucifer.

“ _’Pack my weekend bag’,_ seriously, what would you have done if he’d  _let_ me?” You ask Him, smirking.

“I was certain that it  _wouldn’t_ be permitted; just in case, though, I left one already packed in my suit room.”

“You think of everything.”

“How did  _you_ convince Craig that you were…”

“Untouched? A bit like your desire thing, I think. I projected innocence at him, vermin like him can‘t resist. It wouldn’t work on  _you_ , obviously.”

“Because of who I am or because I’m not…”

“Both. You, like  _any_ decent person, instinctively want to protect innocence. The people  _here_ want to defile it.”

He makes a non-committal sound and you just know He’s thinking of all the ways that He’s ‘defiled’  _you_.

“We’ve got a few hours before dawn, you’ll be safe in here while I pop out to talk to Daniel.” He says, stretching out His wings. “Don’t let anyone in.”

“I won’t.” You say and He’s gone in a gust of wind and a flurry of feathers.

You sit down on the bed with a sigh. It’s good to see Lucifer enthused about police work, this way. He’s been  _so_ worried about His detective, He needs a distraction. You don’t know how she could run out on Him without a word.

You know that she was at home some hours after the ‘Devil face and wings’ incident, because, even though you don’t remember, Lucifer says that you went to her place and saw her. Then, she just didn’t show up for work.

Her ex-husband and father of her child, Daniel, had told Lucifer everything that  _he_ knew; which was, basically, that Decker had taken a chunk of vacation time and the child. She had not said where she was going.

You are  _so_ grateful to this  _Daniel_ for letting Lucifer work with  _him_ , instead. You wonder how he’ll react when Lucifer tells him what the two of you are doing…

***

If the window hadn’t been open, you probably wouldn’t have heard them - Craig and another man, talking quietly, outside, two floors below your room. Not this clearly, anyway.

“Whatever possessed you to invite Morningstar? He’s already being trouble; demanded the removal of the surveillance cameras from his suite.“ The first - unnamed man - says.

“And you complied?“

“Didn’t have a choice, did I? Gave Chaz strict instructions to take them  _all_ out. If Morningstar had already spotted  _one_ , he might take it badly if he found any  _after_ he was told they were gone. You know the wretched man consults for the PD.” The first voice says.

“And that is precisely why I know we can trust him.” Craig replies, smugly. “He worked very closely with the late Lt. Pierce; we all know the rumours about  _him_ , so I think we can assume that Morningstar has the protection of the Sinnerman network - an assumption borne out by the fact that two police departments have seen photographs of his little pet - in flagrante delicto, no less - and no action has been taken against him.”

“Let’s hope he makes it worth our while, at the auction, Sunday; puts some of his rumoured billions  _our_ way.”

“That  _was_ the main reason I put him up for membership but…” Craig’s voice tails off.

“What?”

“His pet. Have you seen it, yet?”

“No. I heard it was a little…  _mature_?”

“If it’s even close to legal,  _now_ , I’d be astounded and  _he_ admits that he’s been fucking it for the last five years.”

“And  _beating_ it, if what I’ve heard about the photographs is true.”

“Oh, it’s  _true_ , I can show you copies. No scarring, though, which is unusual.  _Superb_ skin, simply  _begging_ to be marked; the man obviously has more self control than his reputation would have us believe.”

“So what’s got  _you_ all hot and bothered?”

“He’s somehow managed to maintain its  _innocence_.”

“Seriously? You say he’s been fucking and brutalizing it since it was…”

“Ten or eleven, would be my guess.”

“And it  _doesn’t_ look at you through a pair of dead, jaded eyes?”

“Not at  _all_. Insolent mouth, though; wouldn’t mind putting some  _meat_ in its diet, if you get my meaning.”

“I would think he’d already tried  _that_.”

“I got the impression he’s had it every way possible and maybe a few that aren’t, judging by his attitude.”

“And it’s not  _broken_?”

“Not in the slightest. Even gave  _me_ lip.”

“Obviously no discipline - despite the beatings.”

“ _He_ wouldn’t let me hit it.”

“You asked?”

“No; lashed out, reflexively, somehow  _his_ hand got in the way. Damn near broke  _mine_ on it.”

“Was he angry?”

“ _Oh_ , yeah. Told me not to touch his property, in a voice that put the hair up on the back of my neck. It was like being in the woods and suddenly realizing that you’re being watched by an apex predator. He went from harmless playboy-club-owner to dangerous wild animal in a microsecond and then, just as fast, switched back.”

“Sinnerman network’s global, they say; maybe  _he_ runs the European side of things.”

“Maybe his  _father_ \- word is their relationship is… strained - maybe  _he_ sent him over here, get him out from underfoot…”

“Morningstar  _is_ famous for making deals… maybe his  _father’s_ the Sinnerman and…”

“Whatever. Best not to get on the wrong side of him, just in case.” Craig said, “In particular, don’t do anything to upset his pet, the man seems to take that sort of thing  _personally_.”

“Britishers are all crazy, especially the rich ones. They learn the ropes, the  _hard_ way, at those expensive boarding schools they all go to. Some are packed off as young as five.”

“Yeah, he’ll have started young; going from being prey to being a predator, getting a taste for it. That’s why he won’t be a problem, he’s the same as us.”

“He must have great connections inside the LAPD, getting  _them_ to turn a blind eye.”

“Oh he’s got connections, alright. A contact of  _mine_ , in Child Services, says that the  _pet_ has valid I.D. saying…” Craig drops his voice dramatically. “That it’s twenty-five. Not a  _forgery_ , the identity of an  _actual_ kid that dropped out of sight around the same time Morningstar claims to have acquired his little  _indulgence_.”

“And you’re certain that it’s  _not_ the same kid?”

“Positive. Aside from the  _obviously_ fraudulent age, the  _pet_ seems to have picked up a mysterious sunlight allergy - the kind you have to be born with - that the other kid  _didn’t_ have.”

“So, even though he’s been in the U.S. less than ten years, his contacts are better than ours. Do you think he’ll share?”

“I’m hoping so. If we show him a good time, this weekend, maybe he‘ll...”

A mobile phone buzzes and you can hear one of them fumbling in his pocket. Then they walk away.

***


	17. Undercover (But Not Under Much) Pt. 3

 

Part Three

 

“Interesting.” Lucifer says, after He gets back, when you finish telling Him what you overheard. “I’ll have to let Daniel know about the corruption in Child Services.”

“Fairly obvious that they’d have  _someone_ on the inside, probably a lot more than one.”

“Good to have it confirmed. I wonder what they  _think_ they knew about Cain, when it’s obviously  _not_ that he was The Sinnerman.”

“No.” You say, with a smirk. “ _That_ would be your father.”

“Cast as the villain, for a change, I bet **He**   _hated_ that part.” Lucifer says, with a chuckle.  

“As much as you’re hating  _this_.” You agree. Then you wish you hadn’t because He tenses.

“I didn’t think it  _through_ , having to pretend, having them think that I’m the  _same_ …” His voice catches and His eyes flare. “Having  _you_ walking around half naked… looking the way you do… wearing my name like I…”

“I love my collar, Lucifer.” You say, taking His hand. “I love that you went to all that trouble, just for the possibility of  _this_ weekend happening. When this is over, I’d like to wear it for  _you,_  in bed but only if we  _both_ consent. What’s going on  _here_ , doesn’t involve consent  _or_ safe words and we  _both_ feel the same way about  _that_.”

“You’re right, of course, Darling. Neither of us asked for this, they approached  _me_. They made the assumption and soon, they’ll all pay for it.”

“And when they die, they’ll all go straight to Hell.”

“I’ll have to come up with something especially creative, when that day comes.”

“The sun will be up soon, I’m thinking that that’s what the bag is for.” You say, looking at the full length - empty - garment bag that He brought back with Him.

“Yes. I know we have the drapes and the closet door but think of this as an extra line of defence. I’ll lock the door to the room, obviously but I can’t stay in here all day, it would look suspicious. They have a pre-auction viewing that they’ll expect me to attend.”

You unzip the bag and slide in, then zip it up, halfway.

“Don’t zip it all the way until I’m gone.” You say, looking up at Him with an uncertain smile. It feels too much like a body bag.

In answer He pulls you into His arms and kisses you. Goodnight?

***

You open your eyes. The bag’s unzipped, the way it was when you went down for the day but now you’re in the closet, behind the rail of suits, on Lucifer’s lap.

“How long have you been in here?” You ask Him.

“Couple of hours.” He sounds flat, emotionless.

“Was it very terrible?”

“Yes.” You can smell the scotch on His breath. “They’re so afraid. I wanted to get them all out, without waiting for the back-up but the logistics… they have armed guards, I couldn’t risk it.”

“When  _is_ back-up coming?”

“Sometime after midnight, they’re hoping to catch everyone unawares. I’m to go out, when it’s quiet, and help brief the SWAT team - building layout, number of armed guards, that kind of thing.”

“What do we do while we wait?”

“We’re expected downstairs, in an hour, to  _socialize_.” He doesn’t sound thrilled at the prospect.

“We’d better hit the shower, then.”

You shower together, and, for the first time, neither of you is in the mood for sex. The closest you come is when He kisses you and cuts His tongue on your fangs, entirely deliberately. You swallow His whiskey tainted blood.

“Do not leave my side.” He warns you, as you head to the elevator. “I understand that some of these people like to share. I wouldn’t want them to get the wrong idea.”

He takes your hand as the elevator door lets you out and then all eyes are on the two of you.

***

 


	18. Undercover (But Not Under Much) Pt. 4

 

Part Four

 

It’s  _trying_ to be a party but it’s failing,  _badly_ ; how can it do otherwise, when so many of the attendees are quietly terrified? Not that you’re getting the  _best_ view, keeping your eyes down, the way you are.

When the elevator doors had opened and He realized that - being new - the two of you were centre stage, as it were, Lucifer had murmured in your ear:  _‘Don’t look any of them in the eye, with your **playacting** or there’ll be a  **riot**.’ ’Agreed.’ _ You had muttered back. You no longer feel like a wolf in sheep’s clothing, more like a lamb to the slaughter.

The atmosphere in the room is incredibly tense. Barely discernable to humans, the stink of sex and fear is so strong that you’re glad that, for you, breathing is optional.

The men all have an almost uniform aura of smugness and the ‘ _pets’_ … make you want to weep and commit murder in equal measure.  _No_ child should exhibit the infamous ‘thousand yard stare’ and you’re in a room full of them.

Lucifer’s anger is palpable.

Predictably, He drinks heavily. The others, seem to be using this gathering as an opportunity to talk business, training techniques and sexual abuse - in that order. Lucifer is rapidly losing His reputation as a deal maker, since every request, no matter what the subject, is met with a stern ‘ _No_.’

“I’m intrigued by your pet.” A voice says, closer to you than you would like.

“I don’t share.” Lucifer says, firmly.

“I can make it worth your while.” The man persists.

“I’m not a pimp.”

“I understand that you make deals, famous for it, I’d heard.”

“Usually, yes. You have nothing that I want.” Lucifer says, with almost painful terseness.

“I wouldn’t be too sure of that. I’m Gunta and I‘m in charge of the.. ah..  _livestock_ for tomorrow’s auction.” He doesn’t sound like a ‘Gunta’, his accent is pure ‘Bronx’. “I could give you a couple of hours with one of them - I noticed you looking at the little female with the dark hair and eyes - in exchange for a couple of hours with your  _current_ pet.” He says  _that_ as though  _your_ days with Lucifer are numbered.

You’ve seen the pictures, on Lucifer’s phone, of Decker’s  _‘Spawn’,_ as He calls her. You know  _why_ His eyes would have lingered on a similar looking girl at the auction preview. You squeeze His hand in sympathy. Gunta is still talking.

“I help to run one of the.. ah..  _relocation_ centres, I could do you a good deal, when the time comes.” He says.

Ice trickles down your back as Lucifer says:

“What time would  _that_ be?” In that  _controlled_ way He has, when His anger is in danger of boiling over.

“When it’s time to retire your pet.” Gunta says, as though this is obvious.

“Are you talking about setting them up with new lives, as they become adults or  _retirement_ in the ‘ _Bladerunner’_ sense of the word?”

“The latter, of course.”

“Not going to happen.” Lucifer says, firmly.

“Oh, you  _must_ know that your former suggestion would  _never_ work; the blackmail possibilities alone…”

“No one blackmails The Devil.” Lucifer growls. “You can go away, now.”

Thankfully, he does.

“Made an enemy there.” Craig says, coming up behind you.

“Yes.” Lucifer says, quietly. “He has.”

***


	19. Undercover (But Not Under Much) Pt. 5

Part Five

 

“I have  _never_ wanted to break our deal so badly.” You say to Lucifer, as you wait in your room for the other people in the building to settle for the night. “And I don’t mean I want to  _feed_ on them, just  _end_ them.”

“I know. If it’s any consolation,  _I_ want to kill them all, too.” Lucifer says.

“The newbies are being held in the basement, there’s a door, from the kitchen.”

“How do you know?”

“While you were talking to Craig, I saw one of the staff coming out of the kitchen, he was armed and he smelled of someone else’s fear.”

“You saw his gun?”

“Just an outline, under his jacket. I was thinking that if you could open the basement door - I’m guessing it’ll be locked - I could deal with the guards so there won’t be a fire-fight when SWAT turn up.”

“Why you and not me?”

“Because the guards won’t see  _me_ as a potential threat. They probably won’t even draw their guns; less chance of one of the kids stopping a bullet.”

“I don’t want  _you_ getting shot, either.”

“There’s nothing  _they_ can do to me that  _you_ can’t undo.”

“We don’t know that for  _certain_.”

“I doubt anyone here would  _stake_ me, the worst that can happen is getting shot and I’ll be ready for them.”

“It  _would_ be better if there were no armed guards on the children. Be careful.” He takes something out of His pocket and presses it into your hand.

Plastic ties.

“You brought these back, last night, when you went to set up the raid?”

“Yes. I was certain that you wouldn’t want to just sit in  _here_ and wait. Come back here  _after_ , though, keep your head down. I shouldn’t be gone as long as I was, last night.”

You wonder how hard it had been for Him to get something  _this_ big arranged - in secrecy - that quickly. First off, He would have to have worked out their location; did He do that by flying around until He spotted a landmark or did He have a kind of natural GPS?

Then there’s the SWAT team. Did He have to meet them all, individually and ask them about their desires so He would know that they could be trusted - that they weren’t somehow  _part_ of this - who knew how big this actually  _was_?

Relocation centres, Gunta had said. The implication was that when these poor unfortunates were finished with, they were murdered and their bodies disposed of. Like an industry or… a  _service_. Your rage kicks up a notch.

“Can you calm down, for me, Darling?” Lucifer says, stroking your hand, reassuringly. “I can feel your anger and I don’t want you to accidentally kill anyone. It would… complicate matters.”

“Sorry.” You say. You take some deep breaths and, even though you don’t  _need_ to breathe, a part of you remembers the calming effect that it has.

“No need to apologise, your anger is entirely justifiable. We’ll be going downstairs soon and we must be completely silent. If anyone asks you, after I’ve left, I sent you down to the kitchen for more scotch.”

“Yes. That’s believable.”

“With any luck, they won’t open fire, on another man’s property, without asking questions, first.”

“No.”

“Be careful.”

“You too.”

The two of you use the stairs. The place is eerily quiet and you’re both stealthier than humans. Even on the tiled kitchen floor, Lucifer’s Louboutin’s are silent; you, of course, have bare feet.

He opens the - helpfully labelled - basement door and then, with a nod to you, spreads His wings and vanishes. You head down the rough concrete steps.

There are three guards and you were right, they don’t draw their guns.

“You lost, little one?” One of them says, before you  _look_ at them all and  _they_ are lost.

Once they are secured to each other - wrist to ankle, so none of them can struggle to their feet - you take one shoe off each, followed by the socks, which you then use to gag them. Their guns you leave on a shelf, where they can’t be retrieved.

The ‘ _auction lots’_ are behind a second door - locked in - so you move silently back up to the kitchen. They should be safe, until the police arrive.

“The kitchen is out of bounds.” The harsh male voice is behind you.

Gunta.

Please don’t let him have seen you come out of the basement.

“My Master ran out of scotch.” You say, carefully studying the floor.

“Did he.” He’s looking at your collar, then he‘s gripping the back of your neck; painfully pinching. “If that is truly the case, Mister Morningstar seems to have got through  _three_ bottles, since he arrived, last night. Tell me, is your master a high functioning alcoholic or is he just washing his dick in the stuff?”

Your instinct is to fight him - splatter him all over the room - but you don’t want to alert the rest of them, with sounds of a struggle, or ‘ _complicate matters_ ‘, so you allow him to pull you to the elevator.

***

You expect him to take you your rooms, to confront Lucifer but instead, he takes you to his own. He pushes you through the door so hard that you crash into the bed, falling face down on it and struggling to get up. You suppose that the position of your ass is too tempting.

Gunta lets loose with the cane without warning and you yelp at the unexpected pain of it. It’s caught you across your left upper thigh and buttock. You find the sensation fascinating - Lucifer has never struck you that low down and  _He_ knows how to use small doses of pain to enhance the pleasure. This man only knows how to hurt.

“I’m gonna warm that precious pale skin of yours. I’m gonna make you  _beg_.” He snarls.

This time, you’re expecting it and the cane misses its mark; instead you catch it in your hand, pull it from his as you stand up, then snap it in half with a swift thumb movement. His eyes widen.

“You little…”

 _‘Enough of this.’_ You think and you look up and fix him with your eyes.

Then the room tilts.

 _‘Wha..? Is that an **earthquake**?’ _ You wonder, as you overbalance and go down to the floor in an untidy heap. You feel the wall at your back and realize that you’ve staggered into a corner. At least no one can come up behind you. You try to move, the carpet rubbing unpleasantly on the welt stinging your bare ass.

“That’ll be the drugs kicking in. Specifically, the muscle relaxant.” Gunta said, a nasty smile on his face. “You’ll find it impossible to get back up. You’re an interesting case and I’d like to study you further.” He opens his jacket and takes out a gun so tiny that you want to laugh at it. “But, as interesting as you are, I will not hesitate to shoot you if you give me  _any_ more trouble. Do you understand?”

You stare at his eyes, willing your thirst to overpower him, as it has so many others. Nothing happens and, eventually, you’re forced to nod your agreement.

“Good.” He says, in full ‘smug bastard’ mode.

You glance down from his eyes to the gun and then the rest of the room slides out of focus and you can’t look away. You gaze down the perfectly round hole and imagine the barrel stretching out and the bullet poised and ready, somewhere in its depths…

“Now,” He says, sitting down on the bed and sounding  _so_ reasonable. “We‘re going to chat…”

***

You’re still sitting there, one leg folded under you, the gun still pointed at your face, when you hear the commotion. Shouts of ‘LAPD’ and ‘Freeze’ are surely the most comforting sounds you’ve ever heard. Apart from that sound that Lucifer makes when you…

The door bursts open and Gunta swings the gun away from you and towards the figure that’s coming through.

There’s a deafening bang, two shots almost simultaneously. To your unrestrained glee, Gunta topples sideways, then backwards onto the bed and drops his gun.

“Are you okay? Have they hurt you?” The man in body armour holsters  _his_ gun and crouches in front of you.

“You’re Dan.” You say, feeling dizzy from the drug and the approach of sunrise.

“Yes. How do  _you_ know?”

“Saw your picture on a T-shirt. Where’s Lucifer?” You’re slurring your speech, slightly, your tongue feeling as though it‘s stuffed with cotton.

“Oh, you’re..?“ He looks at you properly, taking in your collar. “Method acting, my ass.“ He mutters. “He was told to wait outside, because he‘s a civilian.” He says, at normal volume. “Knowing  _him_ , he‘s probably already in here, somewhere. I didn‘t realize you‘d be so young.” He sounds angry, as he takes a handful of folded shock blankets from his pocket, shakes one out and puts it around your shoulders. You look at him, questioningly. “We’ve all got ‘em, Lucifer briefed us. Said all you kids were kept almost naked.” You can smell fresh blood - Dan’s not Gunta’s.

“I’m twenty-five,“ You manage, gratefully covering yourself up and instantly feeling less vulnerable. “ _You’re_ bleeding.” You add, looking him in the eyes and knowing that your pupils have dilated with need.

He puts his hand to his neck, where a splinter from the door frame had struck him after being dislodged by Gunta’s missed shot.

“It’s just a scratch.“ He looks at you. “Don’t you look at me that way,” Dan says, flustered. “ _I_ got a fiancée and  _you’re_ Lucifer’s… whatever you are to him.” His voice is quieter, now.

“Yeah, I’m so His I’m  _labelled_.” You sound almost drunk, you realize. “Like  _your_ pudding. I’m  _sure_ He wouldn’t mind, just a  _little_ taste.” You feel your control going; this is insane, you’re not even  _hungry,_ Gunta’s vile drug cocktail has really messed with you. The scent of living blood is coming off Dan in waves. You clench your fists, swallow hard and concentrate on…

“What did he  _do_ to you?” Dan asks, jerking his head towards Gunta‘s body.

“Sun’s coming.” You say, thickly, blinking and finding that your eyelids want to stay down and your head’s almost too heavy to hold up.

“What? Whose son?” Then he sees the way you look. “Whoa,” He snaps his fingers in front of your eyes, making you blink again and refocus. “C’mon, stay with me.” More finger snapping. “Anything happens to you…” He runs his free hand through your hair, checking for head injuries. “Lucifer’s gonna kill me.”

“ _Why_ would I do that, Daniel?” Lucifer comes through the door and you gaze at Him, blankly, over Dan’s shoulder. “Oh, I  _see_.” The sunrise is coming and Lucifer hurries towards you, His arms reaching... “It’s alright, I’ll take h…“

***


	20. Undercover (But Not Under Much) Pt. 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another 'Blood-rat' story arc comes to a close...

 

Part Six

You open your eyes. You’re alone in your ‘big’ bed but you can smell weed - the good, strong stuff.

“Can I have some?” You ask and the bed shifts as Lucifer sits down next to you.

“Are you alright, Darling?” He asks, handing you the joint that He’s almost finished - two good drags and you pitch the roach into a very cluttered ashtray - you wonder how many  _He’s_ got through, while He waited for you to wake.

“Yeah, far as I know.” You say, previous events have taught you that this isn’t  _always_ a given. You’re naked under the bed covers and smell freshly bathed, all trace of Gunta‘s scent gone. Good. “Was Dan freaked out?”

“When he thought you offered your body in compensation for all his stolen pudding, or when you died in his arms?”

“I wasn’t offering my  _body_ , I was… he was  _bleeding_ … I was trying  _not_ to…“ You groan with shame.

“Don’t worry, he told me you were ‘ _drugged out of your gourd_ ‘ and he didn’t realize you died, he thought you’d just passed out. I took you from him  _before_ it occurred to him to check your pulse. He gave me a bollocking about putting untrained civilians in danger, made it  _very_ clear that my presence  _wasn’t_ required, so I carried you to one of the bathrooms, where no one would see us and flew you back here.”

“Then what?”

“I cleaned that vile parasite‘s scent off you, then I popped down to Hell to make sure he was making  _full_ use of the facilities; had a few words with him, then signed him up for some interesting  _extras_. Are you  _sure_ that you’re alright?”

“A bit shaky, maybe. Why?”

“I saw where that  _vermin_ hit you and the bruised needle mark on your neck. I know drugs are… unpredictable for you… Did he..?”

“Do anything sexual? No. I let him  _think_ he’d overpowered me, to begin with. I didn’t know about the needle, until he’d dragged me back to his room and I started to feel… wrong. I  _wanted_ him distracted, I didn’t want him to realize that the men guarding the kids were… incapacitated. Did the kids get out okay?”

“Yes. Your taking care of the guards was very helpful. You’re lying to me, though.”

“Huh?”

“You’re  _not_ alright. I could feel your pain and revulsion, from outside the house, last night, I can  _certainly_ feel you dropping, from  _here_.”

“Dropping?” Does  _that_ explain your inexplicable feelings, you wonder;  _crashing_ , being pushed down by the weight of recent experience...

“You’ve had your head in ‘sub space’ all weekend but you’ve not been  _safe_ enough to have had any form of release. You were in genuine danger…” His voice breaks, slightly. “..from men who were  _not_ playing games… when you needed me I wasn’t…”

You reach out to His hand, intending to reassure Him but He pulls away. Whatever it is that’s happening to you, gets worse as you add His rejection to the mix. You hear Him groan, as if from miles away, as you wrap your arms around yourself - the last time you felt  _this_ bad, He’d left you alone after setting your broken arm - you feel Him grab you, wrapping His arms over yours.

“What can I do?” He whispers in your ear.

“ _Own_ me… make me  _feel it_ …” You’re not sure what’s happening, if it’s the aftermath of the drug or...

“Of course, Darling.” His voice catches.

His wings are around you, now; thrumming with warmth and light as He pulls you into His lap, turning you to face Him. He pins your wrists together, behind your back, with one hand and buries the other in your hair, close to your scalp. He fists the hand in your hair. You gasp at the pain as He pulls your head to one side.

“Is this what you need?” He whispers, His voice strained.

“Hurts.” You moan, layers of pain in that one word making His erection twitch against your abdomen. “Do it harder?” A note of pleading.

He obliges, the skin on your neck pulling taut, making your scar more exposed. He leans in and circles it with His tongue, teasing, deliberately  _not_ touching where you need it most.

“Pleease, Lucifer.” So much need in your voice as you press your naked skin against His. He’s so  _warm_ \- is it uncomfortable for Him that you’re  _not_?

His mouth goes in closer and all your rational thought is swept away as He bites into the flesh  _around_ the scar, holding it in His teeth, His hot breath on it; your body trembling. He’s always been the perfect lover; knowing where to touch…  _anyone_ \- whatever orientation or gender, be they human or otherwise - now it seems a  _new_ pleasure point has been added to your body.

He flicks His tongue, the barest touch on a cluster of nerves, suddenly far more sensitive than  _anything_ lower down.

Every nerve ending in your body explodes with the orgasm. You scream and thrash and writhe and, as your world turns dark from the power of it, you feel Him spill His wet heat between you.

When you make it to coherence again, you’re on your back - both wrists clamped above your head in one of His hands - and He’s pounding, savagely, into you, the thumb of His other hand gently moving across the scar that, now, seems to have a direct line to your battered interior. He’s stroking in time with His thrusts and the sensations are almost too much. Your head tips back, pushing your throat into His hand. His warm fingers close, firmly, while His thumb presses down…

If you still had breath, you’d scream His name.

You’re face down, the next time your consciousness resurfaces. He’s no longer inside you; instead, He’s lazily licking the back of your neck and purring like a particularly satisfied cat. You luxuriate in the feeling of His warm, well defined chest, pressing against your back.

“It’s magic.” He says, disconcertingly and with awe in His voice.

“Huhnn?” Is all  _you_ can manage.

“Connected like this and touching your pledge scar, I can feel  _everything_ you’re feeling; like I‘m inside your skin. Being shagged by  _me_ is bloody  _incredible_.”

“Mmmm-hmmm.” You’re pretty sure He had already known this.

“I wasn’t rejecting you, earlier. I was just trying - and failing miserably - to get the barriers back up. You were pulling me down with you.”

“Mmm?”

“I reached out, last night, so I could check that you were alright, while I was outside, answering interminable questions for the SWAT team. Then with everything that happened and the sun coming up… I just never shut it down. Your emotions are  _so_ …”

“Wha..?” You mumble, into the pillow, too boneless to move.

“ _Pure_. There’s no deception, no hidden agenda, you just… truly love me.”

“Mmmm-hmmm.” You agree, wondering why He thinks that this is news.

“You really are  _mine_.”

“To nurture or destroy.” You confirm, turning your head slightly so your voice isn’t muffled.

“Something does need destroying and I‘ll need your consent.” He sounds serious.

“You have it.” You say.

“You don’t even know…”

“I trust you.”

“You will be hurt but not harmed. Do you understand?”

“Yes. I know that you would never  _harm_ me.”

“I have the riding crop, will you need restraining or can I just  _tell_ you not to move?”

“Just tell me.” You’re perfectly content with the idea of surrendering to Him.

“Very well.” Grabbing your hair, He pulls your head back and slips the cool metal of the collar around your neck. “I can taste the guilt and self disgust on your soul and it can’t be allowed to remain. I will use the riding crop until your guilt is quenched. You will not move.”

“No, I won’t move.” You agree, taking hold of the ornate metal bars at the head of the bed, with both hands.

“You can, of course, stop me at any time. You have your safe word.”

“I know.”

He straightens - back up onto His knees, astride your legs - and the coolness on your skin, replacing His heat, leaves you bereft. You hear the riding crop cut the air. Your muscles tense, involuntarily.

The first blow is like fire across your back.

You remember how dirty you felt when Gunta touched you - when you  _let_ him touch you.

The second blow ignites more nerve endings than the first one. You gasp, unable to help yourself and feel Lucifer’s erection harden against you, reminding you that He‘s  _not_ using sex as a buffer, this time.

The third blow draws blood. The scent of it in the air is soothing.

Gunta and his cane didn’t hurt you anywhere  _near_ this much, so why does the  _memory_ of it fill you with such anguish?

With the forth blow, you’re back in Gunta‘s room; staring down the barrel of his gun, hearing his vile words and desperately searching for enough projectable thirst to subdue the bastard.

Five. Blood flicks onto the wall in front of your eyes, giving you a flash of confusing deja vu. Your entire body seems to be suffused with pain, every nerve ending,  _throbbing_ with it. Something unwanted, deep inside you, is breaking.

Six. Endorphins flood your system, making your head swim.

Seven. You relax your grip on the metal bars as your muscles start to ease.

Eight. You’re drifting, now and you’re happy. Pain has ceased to be a thing in your world.

Nine. Your love for Lucifer expands inside you, filling you with warmth and light and peace.

You barely feel the tenth blow but you hear the sound of it, followed by a crack as Lucifer breaks the crop in half and discards it.

He gathers you up in His arms, holds you close, kisses you.

“Thank you.” You murmur into His ear as He carries you to the shower.

“You can’t hold on to unnecessary guilt; over time it would destroy you.”

“What about you?” You ask, as He switches on the water, without letting go of you.

“The guilt  _I_ carry, is the reason I avoid  _dying_ as a means of travelling to Hell, these days. I’ve been stuck down there before. Feel free to feed, now. Don‘t you  _dare_ be gentle.”

You give Him your fangs, rough and deep into His neck as He starts to sluice water down your back. He groans at the penetration while you swallow His light, gasping at the raw sensation of warm water on your wounds, coupled with the strange deep itch of the healing.

***

“Talk to me, Darling.” He says, when the two of you are back on the bed, wrapped in soft, fluffy towels. “What  _did_ he do to you?”

You press yourself closer to Him. You feel dangerously calm, cared for and well fed.

“ _That’s_ what he did. He  _talked_ to me.” You curl your body up small, your head on His chest. He strokes your hair.

“I saw the welt.”

“He had a cane - like in old black and white films about boarding schools - he hit me with it  _once_ and I broke it when he tried for twice.”

“Good for you.”

“I didn’t realize he’d drugged me, though - he must have stuck me with something when he grabbed my neck and dragged me out of the kitchen - suddenly I couldn’t stand up and then I couldn’t focus enough to use my thirst on him.”

“You were on the floor and he was sitting on the bed, when Daniel shot him.”

“Yes. I think I managed to disorientate him a little but nothing like as much as I wanted. He had a gun on me, by then; I think he  _knew_ that  _something_ wasn’t right.”

“And he talked to you.”

“Yes. Terrible, sickening things. He said that you would tire of me soon and send me to him - I knew  _that_ wasn’t true, obviously - he said how much he enjoyed his time with the retired pets and described…”

“You don’t need to tell me, turns out, he was a child psychologist; extremely manipulative. I interrogated him, extensively, when I visited him, in Hell. He gave me names, places -  _more_ than enough to put many more of these people behind bars, where they deserve to be.”

“They won’t wriggle out of it? Clever lawyers can sometimes…”

“There’s video footage from every bedroom, except ours - insurance, I imagine - damning evidence. Oh, and the D.A.’s office has a secret weapon, these days. Charlotte Richards, the woman who’s life you saved, along with my ungrateful brother’s. Used to be a top defence lawyer but these days she’s trying to redeem herself and avoid going back to Hell when she dies. She’s heading up the prosecution team, she’s  _also_ engaged to Daniel, which should qualify her for  _sainthood_ , at the very least...”

 

 


End file.
